


Coup De Grâce

by jamdropsmarblecakes



Series: Do You Copy? [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:12:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5938149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamdropsmarblecakes/pseuds/jamdropsmarblecakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the year following Operation Sea Charger, everyone must find their own way of dealing with the events of those few days.<br/>But it's hard when Oliver throws himself back into another one of those situations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trouble (They Spun a Web for Me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueMorgana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMorgana/gifts).



> The third and final installment of this series. 
> 
> A few military terms:  
> TOC - tactical operations command  
> TMU - temporarily medically unfit
> 
> I hope that you all enjoy it, that it lives up to expectations, that it still seems 'real'.

“They’re in trouble,” Petty Officer Grant stuck his head through the door of the sailors mess. 

“Trouble? Who?” Felicity pulled her coffee cup away from her mouth, hoping she didn’t cough and splutter the mouthful she swallowed abruptly.

“We didn’t get the memo about the sandstorm that was rolling in over the hills,” he explained, “The team has also been pinned down by some insurgents that were not accounted for in the recon mission.”

“Wait, Ted, you’re talking about the SEAL team? We washed our hands of that the minute they were on site,” Felicity stood up, approaching Ted gently so as not to draw too much attention to them. Not everybody needed to know the ins and outs of this particular mission.

“Yes, but now there’s a fucking officer on the sat phone demanding to speak to his wife and, ma’am, he’s yelling and hollering but we can’t get a name out of him,” Ted explained.

Felicity felt her skin prickle with goose bumps and her heartbeat almost doubled, threatening to deafen her.

“Does he know that he’s called Stennis TOC? He’s aware that he hasn’t reached Chapman or Bagram?”

“Yes ma’am,” Ted nodded, swallowing hard.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she slid her coffee cup towards the dirty crockery on her table. As she followed PO Grant to TOC she was repeating. “He shouldn’t have gone, he shouldn’t have gone,” Since they’d last seen each other, when she wasn’t conversing with someone, they were the only words running through her head.

And it was true. 

Oliver should not have deployed on his final mission. He should have stayed in the TOC. He was supposed to be TMU-ed. But some paper work had conveniently disappeared during a file transfer. 

And by conveniently disappeared, he meant he sweet talked his wife into inconspicuously pulling it from his file and destroying it. With fire. 

Two weeks earlier, Felicity had thrown a monumental hissy fit and demanded that Oliver go and see a doctor about some worrying symptoms that he was experiencing. 

Headaches, fatigue, faulty memory. 

Most worryingly, however, was something that occurred during breakfast preparation a weekend earlier.

*

_“Daddy!” Heath scooted down the stairs on his bottom and, upon reaching the lower floor of the house, took off towards where Oliver was making pancakes in the kitchen._

_“Hey, little man!” Felicity heard Oliver exclaim just as excitedly._

_She lazily followed the sound of her two favorite boys, Mila sat on her left hip._

_“Morning,” Felicity kissed Oliver’s bare shoulder as she passed through the kitchen._

_“Hey,” he smiled at her, running a hand down Mila’s chubby arm as they headed towards the living room._

_“Smells good!” she called over her shoulder._

_She was gently pulling a tshirt over Mila’s head when she heard Heath babbling. Oliver wasn’t answering him._

_“Ma!” Heath cried, “Da! ‘Elp!”_

_“Heath, what is it?” she called._

_“Daddy!” Heath was crying, although now he sounded quite frantic, a little scared._

_Felicity sat Mila in her bubble butt chair and went to answer Heath’s cries._

_Oliver was standing at the stove, staring in to space and leaning heavily against the bench. Heath was holding on to Oliver’s leg, eyes wide in panic._

_“Oliver?” Felicity rushed to Heath and scooped him up, taking him to where Mila was sat._

_“Mommy!” Heath’s lip was trembling, and he buried his face in her neck._

_She sat him down next to Mila, anxious to get back to Oliver, but terrified to leave her son._

_“It’s okay,” she assured him with a hand to his cheek and a kiss to the top of his head, “stay here, Mommy’s going to check on Daddy.”_

_Felicity raced back to kitchen to see Oliver’s legs almost give out from underneath him. He managed to stop himself from going down, but one knee buckled again and Felicity rushed to steady him, flicking off the gas cook top at the same time._

_“Hey, Oliver,” she wrapped one arm around his back, using that and her own body to keep him upright. She took his chin between her fingers and gently turned his face to her. “Look at me, Oliver.”_

_With his glazed eyes roaming everywhere, Felicity gently tried to pry the spatula from his grip._

_“Let me take it,” she coaxed, pressing herself further into him._

_Still pulling him close, she walked backwards, guiding him towards a chair._

_“Sit,” she whispered, and he went down hard, unflinching._

_Felicity squatted in between Oliver’s legs._

_“Oliver,” she spoke softly, running gentle hands on his thighs, up his arms, down again to take his hands. His body looked lax, but his muscles were taut._

_“Mommy!” Heath shouted._

_“Stay in the living room, baby!” she called back._

_Oliver started grinding his teeth and Felicity moved her hands to his face, thumbs stroking his jawline as she whispered, “Relax, Oliver, relax.”_

_His chest hitched, like he had the hiccups. He swallowed brokenly and then breathed in quickly. He blinked once, twice, and looked at Felicity._

_“There you are,” she smiled._

_“What happened?” he asked._

_“I don’t know,” was all she could offer._

_“F’lis’ty,” he sighed, agitated, exhausted, and visibly distressed._

_“You’re okay, ssh, calm down,” she encouraged._

_He was slick with sweat, shivering as the air-conditioner rotated towards them._

_With a pained expression on his face, he squinted at her. She didn’t need to say it, he knew._

_“Hey,” she pressed her forehead to his._

_“Mmm?”_

_“Promise me, promise me you’ll go see a doctor,” she urged._

_“Anything for you,” he whispered._

_Felicity helped him stand up and guided him to the lounge room._

_“Da!” Heath exclaimed._

_Felicity flashed her son a reassuring smile. “Daddy’s okay.”_

_“Yeah,” Oliver nodded as he laid down on the lounge. Heath wandered over and climbed up to lay down with him. “Dad just has a headache.”_

*

Oliver had gone to the doctors the next day. Not a military one. A private one. They’d paid through the nose for it, but it was better than a military doctor kicking his sorry ass out of the Navy on the spot. He’d had a CT scan and an MRI. The doctor had discovered that there was a certain degree of calcification in some parts of his brain. Whether this was from the severe concussions he had received while on active duty, a physical manifestation of his PTSD, or an unfortunate mix of the two, there was no way of knowing. 

His headaches, bad memory and the slight, relatively unnoticeable tremor in his hands were explained away. As were the weird moments of absence, paired with heavy fatigue.  
But that would be it for his Naval career. They’d send him packing with a stern warning not to let the door hit him on the way out. And he wouldn’t stand for that. He had worked too hard, been through too much, survived too much for it to end like that.

But the doctor had recognized Oliver from media, both local and national. And he sent copies of everything to the hospital on the base. One of the doctor’s receptionists, who Felicity had grown close to, had called one morning after opening the envelope for her employer. Felicity had told her to sit on it, file it away wrong for a few days so she could talk to Oliver and work out what they were going to do.

Oliver had argued. Pleaded. Begged. With tears in his eyes and desperation in his voice, he begged Felicity to let him go on one more tour. He hadn’t known that the previous deployment would be his last. He wanted to go, just once more, to make everything count.

So Felicity, against her better judgement, slipped into the files room. The letter, along with the all the imaging, disappeared.


	2. And These Days (They Linger On)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am so terrible sorry for the eternity between updates. Uni is kicking my butt and I've only been back for three weeks!  
> Have a read, let me know what you think. I hope it's obvious where the flashback in this chapter picks up.
> 
> TOC - Tactical Operations Command  
> CSAR - Combat Search And Rescue
> 
> Thank you all for being so patient. x

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Felicity sat down heavily at her station, putting her head set on and adjusting the mouth piece.

“Sir, this is the USS Stennis TOC,” she paced herself in case the line was bad, “I need you to relay your location to me so that I can send a CSAR to your position for pick up.”

“Who is this? The connection is bad, I need to speak to my wife,” came the crackly reply. It was definitely Oliver.

“Your location, Lieutenant Commander,” she insisted.

“My wife, Sailor,” he pressed.

“Oliver,” her softened, pleading, “it’s me, but I need your grid.”

“Felicity?”

“Yes,” her voice broke with one simple word, “please, give me the numbers, we’ll send blackhawks.”

“I love you, I love our kids,” he explained.

“Oliver, I know, I know, and you can tell them that when you get home.”

“It’s bad, Felicity, I think we're pretty fucked.” And Felicity knew they were. There was resignation in his voice. She could hear his uncomfortable hisses over the sporadic gunfire and howling wind.

“We’re going to fix it, tell me where you are. We’ve got blackhawks over at Chapman waiting to pop.”

“You tell Heath-”

“Oliver!” she snapped, “give me your goddamn grid or, fuck, so help me god!”

“I can’t, I can’t see-can’t make out where we are.”

“Alright, alright,” Felicity tried to calm him.

Her fingers flew to the keyboard.

“Smoak,” someone hissed beside her, “what the fuck do you think you are doing?”

 

Felicity impatiently clicked off her audio feed to Oliver and turned to face her challenger. Who turned out to be her only direct superior.

“Sir, I’m hacking into Lieutenant Commander Queen’s comms system. There’s a little know GPS located in it. The GPS was installed by the manufacturer when they were testing the systems ability to withstand big drops. They needed to relocate the set up to assess its endurance,” she explained without taking a breath. “I just need, I need two minutes, and your approval to do so.”

The gruff, bearded man contemplated her for a second and then gave an almost imperceptible nod. She spun back to face the computer and plugged away. It turns out she didn’t need two minutes, she only needed thirty seconds.

Her hands flew to her comms controls and she switched to the TOC at Chapman.

“I have them,” she rushed.

“At the ready,” came the reply.

She relayed the location and then, without even signing off, switched back to Oliver.

“Oliver, listen to me,” Felicity was frantic, “we have your grid, we’ve got CSAR up in the air. They are coming for you and your men.”

“How far away?”

“They just left Chapman.”

Oliver grunted and released a string of expletives.

“How hurt are you?”

“Pretty banged up, but I’m not Swiss cheese yet, don’t worry,” she could hear him smiling.

“Alright,” Felicity glanced over at the satellite video that someone had pulled up, “Oliver, I have a visual on the helos, they are traveling low and fast to your location.”

“Always saving me, sailor.”

“I’m doing my job, sir.”

“Tell me something, Felicity.”

“What?”

“Anything, talk, you’re good at that, do your thing.”

Felicity glanced at the highly ranked officer to her left. He nodded a small encouragement.

“You remember when we first got together? Even before that, when we first got back? You were so patient with me, Oliver, you knew, you knew what I was going through, you knew when I didn’t want to be touched, when I couldn’t bear to hold a conversation, when I just needed to be alone. Later you were hobbling around, you’d just had your knee done. It was hilarious, how grumpy you were,” she laughed and sniffed.

She heard Oliver scoff, but she knew he was smiling. 

“Oliver,” she started softly.

“Still here, my love,” he replied, but he sounded hurt, his voice croaky.

“When we had bad dreams, we’d hold each other, and I’ve never felt safer than in your arms. From the minute you threw me out of the helicopter, I knew that being in your arms was my best chance at getting through life. I have never felt more loved, or more known, than I have by you.”

*

_“Morning,” Oliver’s voice was husky and sleepy as he approached Felicity in the kitchen of the Diggle household._

_He was still rattled by the way they had come together the previous night. Grieving, exhausted, scared. It had been a painfully slow tease, then a fiery explosion of everything that had gone unsaid between them._

_He wasn’t sure that anything had been cleared up._

_Felicity was sitting at the breakfast bar, a bowl of soggy cereal in front of her, nursing a cup of coffee, staring off in to space._

_There was no reply and she didn’t even flinch when Oliver wrapped his hand around hers and the coffee cup. Her coffee was cold._

_“Hey,” he put his nose in her hair at the nape of her neck, kissing her bony spine._

_“Sorry,” she startled but didn’t pull away, “off with the fairies.”_

_Oliver moved his lips along her shoulder, knocking the flimsy material of her shirt down her arm._

_“Oliver,” she withdrew then, shrugging her sleeve back up._

_He thought she was about to bring this to an end, and he recoiled immediately. But apparently not quickly or skilfully enough to hide the disappointment all over his face. She put her arm around his torso and drew him back in, her head resting on his bare chest._

_“This is probably the wrong time to say this to you, probably wrong to say it at all,” the way she breathed the words out left Oliver’s skin moist, “but I will, because I want to you know.”_

_“What is it?” he asked, clearing his throat only after he realised how much raw concern he had failed to mask._

_She paused, for what felt like an eternity to Oliver, and then pulled away from his chest, hands on his hips._

_“I am in love with you. There will never be anyone I’d rather be with than you, now or ever. You have done so much, you have saved so many people’s lives and you have changed so many for the better. Including mine. Knowing you has changed my life. You opened up my heart in a way that I didn’t even know was possible. I love you.”_

_Oliver’s mouth opened. And closed._

_“You are always on my mind, and I know that you’d be the first to admit you are far from perfect, Oliver, but I do, I just love you, okay?”_

_His felt his lips part slowly and he watched an embarrassed flush spread up across her chest and up her neck. She bit her lip, smiling hopefully, but still imploring him to respond._

_“Felicity,” he sighed, unable to say it back. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, that he didn’t feel the same, but he couldn’t say it the same way, couldn’t lay himself bare like that. It was hard for him to come out and say that she was the most wonderful and beautiful thing that he knew. That everything seemed okay to him when he knew she was near to him._

_She nodded, her lips pursed in a strained, knowing smiling._

_“I’m sorry,” he choked out._

_She nodded again, getting up from her chair and clasping his forearm as she passed him._


	3. We'll Do Whatever (to stay alive)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am, once again, the worst. I'm sorry, but I was just trying to get the flashback bit right, and even now I'm not sure I got there. We'll see.

A Petty Officer slipped a scrawled note in front of her and then turned fast, chattering into his headpiece.

“Oliver, the blackhawks are two mikes out,” she explained.

“How long?”

“Two mikes, Oliver, you should be able to hear them.”

“I can’t hear anything over this wind, Felicity, I can barely hear you. I’ve got about four tonnes of sand in my ears!” 

Felicity took a deep breath in and let it out through her nose. Her pursed lips trembled as tears dripped off her chin. Someone put their hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. She dropped her head into her hands and sobbed. Loud, messy, ugly sobs wracked her body. How was she going to explain this to Moira and Robert? To Heath and Mila? To Thea? 

“Please don’t cry, Felicity, please,” Oliver coughed.

Felicity jammed her finger on the mute button before letting go of a watery cough and wiping her nose on the back of her hand.

He shouldn’t even be there right now. He should be at home. Taking his long service leave before he was honorably discharged. Then the kids could have their father indefinitely. And Felicity might even leave the navy after her tenure was up. And they would be so happy. He just had to make it home.

“Felicity?”

She tapped the mute button again. “Still here, my love,” she echoed his earlier sentiment. 

“I can hear the helos.”

“Good, my love, good. I’ll stay on the comms with you as long as you need,” Felicity had her hands balled up against her chest, her knuckles began to ache.

“Thank you,” he sighed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Mhmm,” Felicity could only squeak a reply. 

“Actually, Felicity?” Oliver started, although he was sounding less and less lucid, “I think maybe I’m not gonna die.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she smiled through her tears.

The down wash from the helicopter was deafening, even in her ears, there was the brilliant whir of the mounted 50 caliber machine guns. Shouting. More M4 fire. Oliver grunting, yelling, directing his men in the gritty blackout of the sand storm.

She imagined the other SEAL team repelling down to rescue their brothers. They wouldn’t be holding anything back. Even in these conditions. Felicity’s heart rate quickened as much at the memory of the thrill of those insertions as at the thought that Oliver was so close to being in the relative safety of the helicopter. He’d hate it. He’d hated helicopters ever since Turbine 47 went down. But he’d just have to suck it up. Road transportation was out of the question in this situation.

“Oliver? They’re on the ground now, can you see them?” she asked.

“No-I-sand, Felicity,” he sighed heavily.

“Oliver?” she asked again, more panicked this time. “You doing okay?”

“I just, shit, Felicity, things are, thingsar nogood,” his words were slurred. She didn’t know if he was losing consciousness due to his injuries or if she was losing him to his damaged mind again.

“Things are just fine, Oliver, just fine,” she nodded, more to assure herself than anyone else.

“Tell them to leave me here,” he sighed.

“Fuck, remember what happened last time you said that? Pull your head out of your dramatic arse, things CANNOT be as bad as last time. That is an unacceptable outcome.”  
She slammed the mute bottom on her comms and spun around to the sailors watching the satellite feed and hissing rushed orders into their headsets.

She could see the satellite feed, the feed from a camera on the outside of the helicopter. She could make out a number of men, some helped to the relative safety of the proposed landing zone by others. She counted them. They were one short. 

One of the sailors next to her had a clipboard with last names scribbled on it. This particular sailor was in direct contact with the leader of SEAL Team 2. All bar one of them were crossed out.

“Do we have the Lieutenant Commanders location? Do they have eyes on him?” she shouted. 

Ted turned around and shook his head at her. 

She huffed, frustrated, and tapped the mute button again, gently this time. She needed to be calm when she spoke to Oliver.

“Oliver, they’ve rounded up your team, they just can’t find you,” Felicity said quietly.

“Mmm?”

“Tell me, tell me exactly where you are.”

“South,” he murmured.

Without bothering to mute her comms this time, she spun back around, “South side of the building!”

“Roger, ma’am,” a junior comms sailor saluted the air.

“Oliver, they’re coming.”

There was a few minutes of silence, save for Oliver’s whimpers, grunts and huffs. They were so close. He just had to hold on. 

“Stay with me,” she begged.

The noises he was making were so similar to the ones he was when she and Diggle were dressing his wounds in the Khost Province. Hitching breaths, released in a series of interrupted grunts and snorts. He definitely had a few broken ribs. She remembered the panic, the terrified wideness of his eyes as he clung to the lapels of her cover jacket, grasping on to anything to keep him grounded, keep him conscious. She remembered his breathless “Felicity” full of warning, full of dread. Images of Oliver flashed to Roy. She remembered each of his wounds in graphic detail. His gasping breaths, the stillness of his body. Then she thought about Oliver’s cold body in her arms. Her pleading words for him to hold on, to wait for the CSAR team. She recalled her resolute belief that rescue was coming, her stubborn pledge to get him home.

*

_“Felicity,” Diggle spoke quietly through the dark._

_She rolled her head on the back of her hand to look at him, “Mmm?”_

_“We’re gonna get out of here,” he whispered._

_“Is that a statement or a question?”_

_Diggle huffed, maybe laughed, and shifted on the cold dirt ground._

_“How’s he doing?” he asked._

_Felicity glanced back at Oliver, his face slack, his hand limp in hers._

_“I don’t know, Diggle,” she squeezed Oliver’s hand tightly, hoping for a response._

_“How are you doing?”_

_“I-I just need a good cry, I think,” she bit her lip because, despite her reply, she didn’t want to get rescued with tears streaming down her face._

_“Me too, Smoak, me too,” he sighed, reaching up to place a hand on Roy’s arm._

_“And Roy…” she sniffed._

_“We’re going to get him home, too,” Diggle replied stubbornly._

_“Yeah.”_

_They fell silent again. There were no birds, no other animal noises. It was eerily quiet, and Felicity put her face in the crook of her arm and tried to push her tears back in to her eyes._

_She didn’t know where she stood with Oliver, he probably didn’t know where he stood with her. Regardless of that fact, she wanted to get him home and find out. Find out what would become of them, singular and plural, once the pressures, stresses, and formalities of the military were not immediately present, not the everyday way of life._

_She had this over romanticized vision in her head of the two of them road tripping across the states, or living somewhere along the coastline of Florida, not too far from the base, but far enough that when they were home, work wasn’t at the forefront of their minds._

_They could go to the beach, go for walks, go out for breakfast at Lillie’s, sushi date nights at Tama’s, weekend getaways to the Carolinas._

_“Oh my God,” she hissed out loud, “I’m losing my mind.”_

_“What was that, Smoak?” Diggle asked._

_“I think my fever is getting to me,” she sniffed, “I’m just-wow, I just got carried away thinking about what will happen when we all get out of here.”_

_“I’m gonna move Lyla and the baby as far away from work as possible,” Diggle explained. “I mean, Lyla’s eventually going to want to go back to work, but we can work that out later. The baby, Holly, we’re going to call her, is going to be spoiled, and you know what, I don’t mind, I love her so much already, and she’s not even here, so close though. I’ll probably get out, work security or something, I’m done with deployments, I’m done trying to save the world, everything is a mess, but I can dream.”_

_“You can,” Felicity buoyed._

_“And so can you,” Diggle implored, and Felicity immediately felt the lump in the back of her throat again. “You’re not silly for doing so.”_

_“I do not care what it takes, I’m getting Roy back to Thea, I’m getting you back to Lyla, and I’m getting Oliver back, I will do whatever it takes, John, I promise,” she pledged._

_“You don’t need to promise, Felicity, I know.”_

_“We have to get home, John, we HAVE to.”_

_“Then let’s do it.”_

_“And we HAVE to be okay.”_

_“It’ll take a lot, I think, Felicity, but we will be.”_


	4. Woman, I'll See You in the Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys must be the luckiest people in the whole wide world. Two updates in a week. I'm all over it!!
> 
> I really appreciate the feedback. Tell me something you liked, something you didn't, something you're curious about? I'll address it now, if I can, or later, if it stirs some inspiration in me for a future chapter's flashback.

Felicity realized the quick breaths she could hear were not only Oliver’s. They were hers too. She put her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands to try and slow her breathing, clear her vision, stomp all over the panic attack bubbling just beneath the surface.

She felt a warm hand on her back.

“Felicity,” the voice was distant, like she had cotton wool in her ears, “Felicity, just breathe through it.”

When she turned her head, her tunnel vision was focused on Tommy.

He smiled. It wasn’t sympathetic, it wasn’t condescending. But it was a loud ‘I’m here’. 

“This is Oliver,” he assured her, “he’s going to get up, and he’s going to fight.”

“Sir!” Felicity heard the exclamation over Oliver’s comms and she panicked. What kind of exclamation was that? One of concern? One of relief? The line was too dodgy to hear anything more.

“Lieutenant Commander Queen, open your eyes!” came a shout.

“Oh god,” Felicity nearly fell out of her chair, but was steadied by Tommy’s firm hands.

“Sir, you need to open your eyes for me,” Felicity could hear the rustle of clothing against the comms. They’d be checking him for injuries. The noise of the helicopters was muted. They hadn’t landed yet. A glance over her shoulder told her they were still circling. Probably still looking for a guaranteed landing zone. 

“Stay with me,” she whispered.

She strained her ears. She was sure he said something.

“Sir?”

“I’m here,” he said forcefully, “I’m good, I’m good.”

There was more jostling and then agonized screaming.

“Oliver,” Felicity rushed. She knew he must be hurt if he was letting those uncontrollable howls loose. He’d be doing everything in his power to stop them if he could.

“Sir, you’ve got a bullet wound that’s pissing blood,” someone argued. “Just let me pack it before we head to the LZ.”

“You got anything to knock me out?” Oliver asked, panting but with a jesting tone in his voice.

“I’m sure I’ve got some type of sedative in here,” the same person shot back.

“Well, it’ll be a snowy day in hell before you get me in that thing while I’m still conscious.”

“Oliver, don’t be argumentative,” she chided, a small smile on her face.

“I’ve got my wife in my ear telling me to be nice to you, by the way.”

“Well, sir,” another person threw, “apologies to your wife, but I’m about to stick a metric fuck tonne of ketamine in your ass, and it will be my pleasure to do so. So, ma’am, say good night to your husband, we’ll bring him home.”

“Good night, Oliver,” she whispered, “I love you.”

Oliver talked a little more smack before his words started to slur and then he was silent. 

“Just missed the carotid,” Felicity caught. “He’s lucky. Shit, there’s one in his guts too. Can we just query a broken right femur too? His leg is a little loose.” 

Felicity sighed. That was it then, his naval career over. Regardless of which leg it was, recovery from that type of injury was long, and would probably push Oliver beyond his active service age. He’d be stepped down from the teams and back into general service. He wouldn’t stand for that, and would probably retire. 

A non-lethal coup de grâce. 

“Ma’am,” a loud static voice came over the comms after a bit of fiddling, “Ma’am, this is PO2 Butler, are you still there?”

“Still here, Butler, this is Senior Chief PO Smoak,” she sat up straight.

“Smoak?”

“Yes.”

“As in CPO Felicity Smoak?”

“Correct.”

“Ma’am, we’re moving towards the LZ,” he shouted over the increased rotor noise and gunfire. “We’re gonna load up Lieutenant Queen and his team and head for Bagram. We’re going to have to take the comms off Leader, so you’ll lose contact, is that okay?”

“Of course, Butler, whatever you need to do,” Felicity nodded, stretching her aching hands.

“Do you want to say something to him, you know, anything you want-”

“Can he-can he hear me?”

“Ma’am, he’s still kind of awake. Just very docile, he’s kind of cute when he’s high as a kite,” Butler replied, laughing.

“Petty Officer,” Felicity rushed impatiently.

“Oh, right, sorry ma’am, handing over.”

“Oliver?” she spoke after a few seconds.

“’ty?” he groaned.

“You’re okay, Butler is going to look after you. I’m going to try and get on a Grumman to Bagram this afternoon, no guarantees, but, we’ll see, okay?”

“Mmm.”

“Alright, switching off comms in three, two, o-”

Felicity knew that there was no way she was going to be able to bump out on a Grumman, but she needed Oliver to have something worth waking up for.

*

_“Wow,” Oliver wolf whistled, “I am glad I skived off early.”_

_Felicity giggled, blushing as she pushed some of her curls over her shoulder._

_“Happy birthday,” she laughed, her hands going to her stomach, which seemed bigger than it had this morning. Oliver saw this as her attempt to hide her scar, but that was certainly not what he was looking at._

_His girlfriend, soon to be wife if he could convince her, must have been parading around their house in her lacey black knickers and a giant red bow for most of the afternoon. The ribbon pulled together just enough to give her milk heavy breasts the most magnificent lift, the ends draping over her 8 month round belly._

_“Happy birthday, indeed,” he murmured, zipping his boots off and shrugging out of his jacket._

_He was already moving toward her when she hooked a finger to motion him closer and he almost stumbled from the sudden lack of blood flow to anywhere else in his body but his dick._

_Felicity noticed and threw her head back laughing, turning and jogging, on her tip toes, upstairs._

_Oliver followed, hot on her heels, laughing as he licked his lips. He made it to the bedroom just as Felicity turned in the door way. He collected her softly, his arms going around her rib cage, and lifted her gently, walking blindly to the bed as his mouth met hers._

_“No, no, wait” she half-protested, lazily attempting to break their kiss._

_“What? Am I hurting you?” he pulled away for a moment, eyebrows knitted in concern._

_“No, not at all, you just, you have to unwrap your present before you take it bed,” she huffed between kisses._

_Oliver paused, but not before trailing kisses down her neck and across her collarbone to her shoulder. He lowered her gently to the ground and stepped back as he rubbed the red satin material between his fingers._

_“Go on,” she urged, sounding slightly impatient._

_He grinned at her then, and her face fell, she knew she was screwed. He was going to take his sweet time unwrapping this particular present._

_“Don’t be a tease,” she whimpered._

_“Says the hot blonde in nothing but lacey knickers and a red bow,” he scoffed._

_She rose on her tip toes to kiss him and he stooped to meet her halfway._

_“Please,” she begged._

_He slipped his fingers in the top seam of her underwear and pushed them down until they fell around her ankles. Felicity was already working on the button of his pants, furiously and unsuccessfully._

_He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. He shimmied out of his pants and reached behind him to pull his shirt off and, in the same motion, take off his boxers. He picked Felicity up and walked her closer to the bed._

_“I can’t be on my back, Oliver,” she moaned._

_“I know,” he turned and sat down, holding her close to him as he scooted back on the bed._

_He laid down and pulled her to him, kissing her hungrily now, deciding he was done being a tease._

_Felicity pushed herself upright and waved the end of the ribbon in front of him._

_He gave in then, tugging roughly at the end of the ribbon, watching it fall apart and pool at her hips._

_“Oh, hell yes,” he whispered, pushing himself up on his elbows and kissing her breasts as gently as possible._

_“Oh, fuck,” she hissed._

_“Sorry,” he rushed._

_“No, no, they’re just tender,” she assured him._

_His big hands went to her hips and he lifted her gently, lowering her on himself, instantly pleased and satiated by the feel of her around him._

_He did love foreplay, but his poor, darling Felicity did not have the stamina for it in the final few weeks of her pregnancy._

_Times like this, where it was all heat and grabbing, pelvises, limbs, tongue, hair, everything amalgamated as one, were secretly his favorite. He loved how quickly he could get Felicity on the verge, but then pull back at the right moment in order to prolong their experience. Then there were times were it was a tortuously extended experience, exhaustive and annihilating in its physical and emotional intensity._

_They were secretly his favorite too._

_She dipped to kiss him again and he felt her nipples gently graze his chest. His hands still held her hips tightly and her hands were roaming all over his body, eliciting painful goosebumps across his chest._

_“Oh my God, Felicity,” he whispered into her mouth._

_“Mhmm,” she replied, the murmur timed perfectly with their now rhythmic rocking._

_Oliver pushed himself up, his stomach muscles twitching as Felicity contracted around him. With her sitting in his lap, he was at the perfect height to plant kisses all over her breasts, up her chest, along her jaw. He loved watching her when they were in the throws of making love, her flushed cheeks, her swollen lips, that little satisfied smirk that always tugged at the corner of her mouth._

_Nothing could possibly feel as good as this, the hot, ceaseless motion of their hips, the grind of her pelvis on his. It made the world around him disappear, and obliterated his body to a bubbling pool of endless stupor._

_There was no gentlemanly gentleness about him now. Rather, an impatient, delicious desire which made his dog tags move up and down his chest with every roll of her body on his. His unshaven cheek scratched her when he kissed her. She ran a hand over a scar on his arm, and then up to the back of his head, trying to grasp his too short hair, grunting disapprovingly when she couldn’t get a handful._

_With both her hands now clasped at the nape of his neck, she squeezed with all the brutality that her fingers were capable of. He murmured an apology and she pressed her forehead to his._

_“It’s not you,” she whispered. “We’ve got our own perfect rhythm, and the spawn of your seed has decided that he doesn’t like it.”_

_“Oh, my love, are you okay?” he was still pulling her close, both his arms around her tightly._

_There were tears in her eyes and she shook her head._

_“Felicity,” he rushed, pulling out of her and standing them both up. He took her in his arms, tucking her head under his chin. One thumb rubbed a reassuring circle on her shoulder._

_“I’m so horny, Oliver, but I just can’t fix it,” she sobbed._

_Oliver smiled but chewed his lip to stop himself from laughing._

_“I’m a whale, Oliver, an oddly shaped whale, and you are just so fucking good looking and I can’t just tell my body not to find you attractive, it doesn’t work like that! And it’s your birthday, and I wanted to surprise you and I’m really sorry that it didn’t work,” she sniffed._

_“It’s fine,” he assured her._

_“Do you want a hand to finish?” she offered._

_Oliver collected himself, wiped the smirk off his face, and then held her at arm’s length._

_“Why don’t we both get in some sweatpants?” he offered quietly, not giving her an answer. “We’ll order Chinese, cuddle on the couch, watch some cartoons?”_

_“Yeah,” Felicity nodded, wiping her nose on the back of her hand, her lips pouted._

_“Yeah,” Oliver repeated, taking Felicity’s hand and leading her to the walk in robe._


	5. I Hope You're the One (that saw me in the moon)

Oliver was stuck somewhere. The wind howled in his ears and the grittiness of the sand had forced him to close his eyes. He had hunkered down on the roof, behind the sniper perch that had been set up, but the muzzle flashes through the dust meant that he wasn’t going to be safe there for much longer. 

The pressure of the sat phone in the front pouch of his tactical vest had him reaching for it. He dialed one of the two saved numbers in the directory.

“USS Stennis TOC, Petty Officer Grant,” came the crackled greeting.

“Petty Officer, I need to speak to my wife,” he shouted.

“Please identify yourself,” came the order.

“Lieutenant Commander Oliver Queen, I need to speak to my wife!”

“Sir, I didn’t quite catch that, please repeat last message.”

Oliver shouted his request again, but was met with the same answer.

“I would like to speak to your senior officer,” he decided on a different approach.

“She’s off duty, sir.”

“NOW!”

“Stand by,” came the reply.

Oliver got on his radio, checking in with his men. Most of them had made it down the stairs, and were holding off the enemy with a defensive movement.

“We need to get up on them,” he ordered.

“Sir,” somebody replied, “that is not an option right now.”

“Alright, hold position, I’m trying to get CSAR organized.”

“-ing Christ,” he heard an abrupt voice on the phone. “Sir, this is the USS Stennis TOC,” came the paced greeting. “I need you to relay your location to me so that I can send a CSAR team to your position for pick up.”

“Who is this?” he demanded. “The connection is bad, I need to speak to my wife.”

“Your location, Lieutenant Commander,” the person on the other end was insisting.

“My wife, Sailor,” he pressed.

“Oliver,” the softness of the voice shocked him, “it’s me, but I need your grid.”

“Felicity?” he sighed, the picture his mind flicked to was a breathtaking sight. She was nursing Mila, and Heath was crouched next to her, admiring his baby sister, playing with her toes. Felicity was watching Mila with the most loving look on her face, and Oliver remembered sitting on the armchair opposite his family, drinking his morning coffee and struggling to maintain composure as he watched them.

Felicity had been softly reminding Heath to be gentle, to be nice, and had lovingly run her spare hand down Heath’s arm. Then she’d pulled Heath into her side and kissed his hair, glancing up at Oliver and smiling. 

“You okay?” she’d mouthed. 

He remembered needing to close his eyes and catch his breath before he’d nodded in reply.

And he realized in that moment, as the sand swirled around him, as Felicity’s word went in one ear and out the other, despite his attempt to try and comprehend what she was saying, that he probably wasn’t going to ever see them again.

*

_“Oh my God,” Felicity’s comms line was open and Oliver whipped his head around trying to find her. He was ushering people out of a building that had been reduced to rubble mere minutes ago. They were a few minutes too late to stop the bomb going off, a few minutes too late to save what would eventually tally up to 73 lives._

_“Felicity?” he thumbed the button on the lapel of his jacket._

_“Oh my God,” she sighed again. He couldn’t tell if she was hurt and he adjusted his stance, hand hovering above the button, waiting for a reply. Nothing came._

_“Patton!” Oliver barked across the road._

_Heath spun around, the grip on his gun tightening. “Sir?”_

_“Felicity?” he wasn't trying to get her attention, rather insist that Heath knew her whereabouts. It was the delivery of her name, a question, an answer, a demand, that deemed it so._

_The Petty Officer shrugged and turned back to the stream of people walking up the street._

_Oliver motioned with his chin for Roy to stay put, the order received with a nod._

_Oliver pushed through the barrage of people staggering out of the building. He checked every face, instinctively, and double checked every military uniformed person.  
He wet his lips as the panic started to set in. He’d done so well at protecting her up until this point. He was terrified he was going to find her in a pool of her own blood, or crushed under tonnes of debris, or with a gun pressed to her temple by an angry young man._

_“Smoak, radio check, Smoak, radio check,” he stuttered._

_Nothing. Then._

_“Received,” came the whispered reply._

_He let go of a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and strained his ear for any movement in the nearly cleared building. “Smoak, what is your location?”_

_“Ah, sir, I’m not sure, I’m up a level, had to scramble…”_

_“What? There’s no first floor left?” he was jogging through the corridors now._

_“Well,” she was still whispering, a little sing songy, “I hate to break it to you sir…”_

_“Felicity?” he yelled up the hallway, not bothering with the comms this time._

_“Yeah!” she called back and Oliver realized she was just above him.  
In what he hoped was an impressive display on athleticism, he pulled himself up onto the next floor after a bit of a run up, using a half collapsed bed as a ramp._

_Startled by his grunt and the noise he made, Felicity spun around, her gun in one hand, steadily pointed right between his eyes._

_He went to speak, to assure her but he found that the noise died in the back of his throat, and he froze halfway to his feet._

_“What the hell is that?” he asked, gesturing at the bundle of dusty blankets in her other arm, as she holstered her pistol._

_“What? Oliver, it’s a baby!” she hissed, pulling it closer to her, almost defensively as Oliver approached hesitantly._

_“A human baby?” he swallowed, embarrassed at the slight crack in his voice._

_“No, Oliver, a baby goat,” she dead panned._

_Oliver pulled up short, wide-eyed._

_“Oh my, fuck, Oliver, it’s a human baby,” she threw her head back in despair._

_“And it’s alive?”_

_“Yes!”_

_“We can’t get it down from here,” he looked around._

_“Well, I’m not about to leave it here!”_

_Felicity, way too casually for Oliver’s liking, pushed the bundle of blankets in to his arms. He tried to protest, but Felicity ssh’d him and set about finding a way down. The baby started protesting almost immediately, squirming, little wrinkled hands thrashing out of the blanket, blindly grabbing for something._

_“Felicity?” Oliver turned just in time to see her jump from the first floor. She landed almost silently but he still rushed to edge._

_“Pass the squidge to me,” she was scrambling up the same collapsed bed Oliver had used, and was reaching up to him._

_The baby was screaming now, terrible, hungry screams. Oliver slowly dropped to his knees, then he laid flat on the floor and, as gently as he could, lowered the baby into Felicity’s outstretched hands._

_The floor was creaking and Felicity’s eyes went wide as she made eye contact with Oliver. With a crack, the concrete floor Oliver was lying on smashed to the floor._

_He felt like he was suspended, momentarily, in air, that gravity defying feel in his belly. He might have even been smiling._

_But then he felt himself falling._

_He bounced when he hit the ground, rolling onto his back to try and lessen the second impact. The air had left his lungs but, over the screams of the infant, he could hear Felicity calling his name._

_“I’m good, I’m good,” he yelled, hauling himself up and almost swimming through the thick cloud of dust._

_Felicity was squatted against a wall, the baby resting on her legs, as she undid the lid of her canteen and poured some on to her scarf. She cooed and hummed as she wiped at the baby’s face and body. It’s skinny limbs and bloated stomach made something inside Oliver shift, but that was nothing compared to the sight of Felicity bundling the baby up and pulling it close to her, planting kisses on it’s head and rubbing it’s back._

_“Sir? Smoak?” came Heath’s voice._

_Oliver had to shake the feeling loose and holler back at him._

_“What have I told you, Felicity,” Heath ambled up to them, a smile of his face. “No baby stealing.”_

_“Petty Officer, can you escort Felicity back to the front of the building and ensure that the infant gets the appropriate care?” Oliver cleared his throat._

_“I can, sir,” Heath nodded, and placed a hand on Felicity’s shoulder to guide her through the rubble._

_“Oh, and Heath?” Oliver added._

_“Sir?” he turned back, leaving Felicity walking by herself._

_“The mother is still up there, dead,” Oliver informed him. “We’ll need to find some sort of care for this child, make sure Felicity doesn’t get too attached.”_

_“Sir,” he moved to follow Felicity, but then stopped and turned back to his divisional officer._

_“What is it, Patton?” Oliver demanded through gritted teeth. “Something to say?”_

_“No, sir, although, sir, she is a sight for sore eyes nursing that baby, isn’t she?” Heath winked and left before Oliver could wallop him on the back of his head._

_Oliver licked his lips and sighed heavily, trying to erase the image of Felicity Smoak holding a baby, so effortlessly, so motherly, so calmly, from his mind._


	6. When I Awoke (you were standing there)

Oliver opened his eyes and blinked to focus. He body ached and he felt the all too familiar tickle of a naso-gastric tube. He turned his head, but only slightly. There was tape down the left side of his neck that restricted his movement, tugging at the hair on his unshaven neck. 

The feeling was unpleasant. 

Felicity was concentrating awfully hard on something in her hands. A ball of wool had fallen from her lap and rolled a few meters from her chair.

“Are you-” he started, voice nothing but a croak, before clearing his throat. “Are you fucking crocheting?”

“What the fuck else am I supposed to do? I’m crocheting you a sock, so your toes don’t get cold,” she snapped back like she wasn’t at all glad to see him.

It was only then that Oliver realised his right leg was in a heavy cast. And then he vaguely remembered hurling himself off the side of a two story building. And then the snap in his leg. And the slackness of it as he dragged himself behind a car. 

“Sit rep?”

“You’ve got a through and through on the left side of your neck, it destroyed your trapezius, just missed your carotid. You’ve also got one in your guts that required an eight hour surgery to fish out and repair. You’ve got your stock standard fractured ribs, you’ve broken your femur just above your knee and, because you’re you, the head of your femur too, so, since this morning, you’ve now got a hip replacement to match your knee, you had three bullets embedded in your left bicep, and broke three bones in your left hand, so,” she took in a deep breath, “while you weren’t quite Swiss cheese, you were damn close, Oliver.”

“I know,” he nodded, closing his eyes against the weight of her glare.

“Jesus Christ, Oliver,” she rolled her eyes and dropped her crocheting in her lap, and Oliver braced for a lecture.

Instead.

“You were talking like you weren’t coming back,” Felicity had tears in her eyes, “and I just, fuck, you’d almost convinced me. I was in the TOC and I was terrified!”

“Felic-”

“You resigning yourself to be killed? It killed me. The thought of you not coming back-”

“I was always coming back,” he refuted quietly.

“Well you could have fooled me, Oliver,” Felicity spat, enunciating every word with spectacularly terrifying poise. “I still have the recordings from comms on that mission. You told me you loved me, that you loved our children. And you wanted me to tell Heath something, and Oliver? That was you not coming back.”

The tone of her voice was deep, and it could have been mistaken for strength but it was also wavering, full of anger and sadness.

“Felicity…” he started. He went to roll onto his side, but it was painful and he stopped halfway. There was a pillow pressed hard against his side. Ah yes, he thought, the ribs. Instead of pursuing his desire to roll on his side, he tried to reach for Felicity.

“Ow,” he croaked.

“You’ll rip your stitches, lie still,” she lectured. 

“Felicity,” he settled back on the mattress, “I’m so sorry. I love you. And I’m sorry.”

With a clutter of the plastic chair and a flurry of arms and legs, Felicity flung herself at him.

Warm breath and hot tears accompanied the sniffles that Felicity emitted as she pushed her face in to the uninjured side his chest.

Oliver brought his hand up gingerly, his IV line tangled with his bed sheets. Ignoring the pain ripping at the back of his hand, he gently and lovingly stroked Felicity’s lower back.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, “I’m okay.”

*

_“Ma’am,” young Petty Officer Tim “Flash” Gordon called for Felicity's attention as the RHIB skid to a halt on the sand. He was pointing towards something reflection the sun, although she couldn't quite make it out._

_“I see it, secondaries off!” she shouted to her patrol party as they jumped off the boat._

_There was a tin shed a few feet back in the tree line. The door was wide open and it looked abandoned._

_“Two Cats and ET, check out the shed, Flash and I will stay here and keep watch, Grant and Nobby I want you to head left along the beach, Whitey and Spock, to my right,” she ordered._

_“Ma’am,” came the unison reply._

_Felicity smiled to herself, satisfied. Although she was still slightly annoyed at having to lead the patrol party, it was nice to be on terra firma and she relished the sand beneath her feet, even if the only way to feel it was through the inch think soles of her boots._

_“Ma’am, we’ve got a body,” ET called from the shed._

_“Okay, ET, I’ll organize a body bag from the sh-”_

_“Woah, wait, ma’am, she’s alive!”_

_“Okay, check her out, do what you can to stabilize her, we’ll evac once we’re done with the scout.”_

_“Ma’am.”_

_She glanced a Flash, who was looking a little peaky._

_“How’s that sea sickness going for you, PO3?”_

_“Oh, ma’am, I’m fine,” he huffed, swallowing hard._

_“Yeah? You look like death warmed up,” she commented._

_“That’s how I feel, ma’am,” he relaxed a little, grimacing._

_“It’s okay, small ships are hard after the big ones, trust me.”_

_“You got seasick too, ma’am?” he gave her a look that reminded her so much of Roy that she had to swallow her feelings of home sickness before she could speak._

_She offered a sympathetic smile and thumbed her comms button, “Murphy, this is Patrol Party 2.”_

_The reply came back crackly and completely incomprehensible._

_“Murphy, I’m not receiving you, please repeat last.”_

_She was met with the same static._

_“Whitey and Spock, are you receiving me?” she glanced at the far away figures to her right._

_“Yep,” came the short reply._

_“We’re in a dead spot for the ship, can you hustle back here? Flash and I are going to find higher ground.”_

_She heard Tim groan loudly beside her._

_“Let’s go, PO3 Gordon, I’ll lead,” she smiled at him._

_The trek to the peak on the island was silent. Felicity was lost in her own thoughts of Oliver, where he was now, if he was safe, warm, fed. And the kids. Heath and Mila were staying with Oliver’s parents for the two month overlap of their deployment. It had hurt so much to say goodbye to the kids at the airport, despite Moira’s assurances, they had all been crying. Moira had said that a picture of Felicity clinging tightly to both her children had made the front page of the state paper the next morning._

_Finally reaching a peak on the island, Felicity tried the ship again._

_“Loud and clear, Smoak, what’s the situation?”_

_Flash had his hands on his knees and was dry heaving. Felicity frowned and turned away._

_“We have one seriously injured civilian, ET is checking her over now, but I need to be put through to the ships medic, please.”_

_“Roger, stand by.”_

_“Murphy, what’s the status on the SEAL team running ops out of Jalalabad?” Felicity queried._

_“Not our circus, not our monkeys, ma’am,” came the reply._

_“But if it was our circus?” she insisted. “One of those monkeys is mine.”_

_There was radio silence, and Felicity knew that the radio operator would be getting an earful from the CO._

_“Ah, ma’am, FOB Fenty has not received any comms from the team for two weeks now, they’ve gone dark.”_

_“Two weeks?”_

_“Yes, Chief, the last they received was from Lieutenant Commander Queen, which reads, and I quote, ‘if my wife pesters you, tell her it’s okay, tell her I’m okay’.”_

_She sighed, her lips twitching into a smile. “Thank you, standing by for ships medic.”_

_Felicity turned back around to Tim who had finally managed to vomit. He flashed her a sour look, grimacing._

_“Ma’am, this is the worst.”_

_“Well, walk it off!” she said so seriously, and with such an emphatic directional hand, that PO3 Gordon took it as an order and scurried off into the bush._

_“Chief, how’s ET doing with tracheotomy?” asked the medic._

_“Ah, Lieutenant, we’re just trying to locate a tube to use,” she sighed, finding some respite from the sun under a tree._

_“Tell ET that he’s got a pistol. Use it.”_

_“Sir.”_

_She changed channels._

_“ET?”_

_The reply was delayed, and he sounded stressed._

_“Yes?”_

_“You’ve got a pistol, use it,” she repeated the instruction._

_“You want me to shoot her?” came the baffled reply._

_Felicity rolled her eyes and impatiently held the comms button down._

_“Break down your Browning,” she explained slowly, resisting the urge to run down the hill and belt him over the back of the head, “remove the barrel, use it as the tube. Over.”_

_“Got it,” he sounded embarrassed this time._

_“All good, Smoak?” asked the medic on the other channel._

_“He thought we wanted him to shoot her,” she replied, mockingly._

_“Shoot her?” she heard him laughing. “That’s one way to end a crisis.”_

_“Jesus Christ,” she huffed to nobody but herself._


	7. Everything Changes (but beauty remains)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like a double dip for you guys! I decided to post these two chapters (and their corresponding flashbacks) together as it would be easier to carry on reading than to have a interruption between the two. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Roy placed a coffee cup down in front of Thea and put his own to his lips. 

“Mmm, thank you,” Thea sighed, distractedly, running a hand down the back of his leg.

She was sat at the dining table with Cindy, going through her reader for the week. Heath was sat on the other side of Cindy, colouring madly. Mila was asleep in the pop up cot that Oliver and Felicity kept downstairs to use when people were around. 

Roy rubbed his thumb on the back of Thea’s neck as he watched Oliver and Felicity through the open bedroom door. Their downstairs spare room had become the master bedroom since Oliver was discharged from the hospital. 

Oliver had sat himself up and twisted to place his feet on the floor. One leg, still in a brace and favored at the hip, was straight, the other bent and ready to stand on. Felicity sat down next to him, a hand on his thigh, saying something for his ears only. She kissed his cheek and stood up, holding her hands out for him to take.

With strength that always surprised Roy, and tenderness that never did, Felicity helped Oliver to a standing position. He clearly preferred one leg, one whole side of his body, standing slightly crooked as Felicity passed him a crutch. 

With the hand that wasn’t supporting his weight, he cupped her face but she wriggled away, wrapping her arms around his chest. The two of them swayed slightly, dancing to their own music. Oliver ran a hand up and down Felicity’s back, then down her arm to her elbow, his fingers dancing down her forearm to take her hand. 

Bringing Felicity’s trembling hand to his lips, he kissed the inside of her wrist.

Was she crying? Oliver was saying something. Over and over. He pushed his forehead to hers, his lips still moving incessantly. If Roy squinted it appeared as though he was saying “I’m sorry”.

Roy wondered if Oliver was aware of just what he had in Felicity. She was patient but strict when it was needed. Loving, but not indulging. Understanding, kind, passionate. And she was strong. Mentally and physically, Felicity Smoak was as tough as they came. The only woman stronger than her was his own wife. And that was because Thea put up with his grumpy ass. Felicity had been a far better person about Oliver’s deployments and subsequent injuries than anyone should be. 

She was not interested in the help offered by Moira and Robert, or Donna. Even Roy and Thea found it difficult to offer their help without actually offering their help. Felicity seemed to be able to deal with them dropping around after they picked Cindy up from school. It distracted Heath and Mila from their seemingly endless need to cling to their father and allowed Felicity a few moments by herself or a few moments with her husband. 

Having said that, Roy was privy to what it must have been like for Thea when he first came back from Afghanistan. Thea had gently shaken him awake the previous night, sleepily passing him the phone.

*

_“It’s Felicity,” she whispered, “she sounds stressed, I think we need to get around there.”_

_“Blondie?” he held the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he pulled on a pair of jeans._

_“Roy, I just, I need you to come around,” she rushed, “it’s okay, Oliver, babe, just breathe. Ssh, ssh.”_

_“Felicity?” he could hear Oliver’s terrified breaths._

_“Oliver’s having a panic attack, I can’t calm hi-come on, Oliver, ssh. It’s hurting him, Roy, I don’t know how much more I can take.”_

_With a sleepy Cindy wrapped like ivy around her mother’s arm, the three of them, along with Patton, had raced across the base to the Queen household. Roy didn’t even bother with a courteous knock as he flung the front door open and dashed to where he knew Felicity and Oliver would be._

_Oliver’s panicked breaths and pained hisses had greeted him as he entered the downstairs bedroom._

_Felicity was kneeling on the bed next to Oliver, who was upright, blankets clenched in his white knuckled fists._

_“Oliver,” Roy raced to the other side of the bed, “hey, we’re going to get through it.”_

_Roy pried his fingers from the blankets and gestured that Felicity do the same. Patton jumped up on the bed and settled between Oliver’s legs, resting his chin on his knee._

_“Hey Blondie?” Roy smiled, trying to distract her and erase the crease in between her eyebrows. “Do you remember that technique they taught you and Thea, the rhythmic talking?”_

_Felicity nodded._

_“Why don’t we try that?” he suggested. “You good with that, Oliver?”_

_Oliver nodded, trying to swallow._

_She had moved to kneel behind him and she placed their joined hands over his heart. Roy could tell from how tightly Oliver was still holding his hand that his heart would be racing, he could feel his pulse in the tips of his fingers._

_Felicity had her lips pressed to Oliver’s ear and was whispering so quietly that Roy couldn’t hear her, even through the stillness of the night. Her hand shook as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and she was flicking at her thumb nail with her middle finger._

_Despite her own agitation, she was portraying as sense of calm as she continued her attempt at talking Oliver down. He was whimpering, his chin quivering, his eyes squeezed shut. He was repeating her name, over and over, reaching blindly for her, even though her hand was in his._

_It took most of the early morning hours for Oliver to doze off, albeit fitfully. Thea and Cindy were snuggling on the deep plush lounge. Patton was torn between staying with Oliver and dutifully following Roy around._

_“Heel,” Roy whispered as he left the bedroom._

_He heard Felicity murmur to Oliver and a whimpered accession in reply. He glanced back to see Felicity kiss his bare shoulder and shuffle off the bed._

_Roy slowed his pace to allow Felicity to catch up. She fell in beside him and he put his arm around her shoulders. Together, in silence, they wandered to the kitchen._

_Felicity put a pot of coffee on and Roy watched her hands shaking as she scooped coffee grinds into the filter. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek, steadfastly refusing to look at him._

_“Blondie,” he started, pushing himself off the bench towards her._

_Felicity vigorously shook her head, pursing her lips, causing Roy to stop short. He held his hands up to show no foul and backed up to the bench._

_He watched her inhale sharply through her nose and let it out quickly. He wasn’t sure if Oliver had picked that trait up from her and if she’d learned it from Oliver, but the similarity was there._

*

Roy made eye contact with Felicity, who offered a tired smile. He cleared his throat and looked away, feeling as though he was intruding, that what he was witnessing was something that nobody else should be privy to.

Just like Oliver, he still sometimes lurched awake, panic clawing at his entire body. Physically, he was as close to 100% as he was ever going to get. Sometimes his scars burned painfully. For a while, he was convinced it was some kind of Harry Potter premonition, that his scars hurting meant that he and the people around him were in immediate danger. He had taken months to be talked down from that crippling train of thought. He was managing just fine without the three fingers on his hand, adjusting the way he carried things, the way he wrote, the way he drove a car.

Nobody could tell him if the migraines he suffered were part of his PTSD and anxiety or whether they were a near weekly reminder of the head wound he’d received after he and Felicity had rolled down the side of the cliff. 

He’d never forget the terror in her eyes as he’d gripped her hand. He’d been so scared that was the last time he’d ever see her. So scared that on the way down, she’d take a lethal bullet. The rest of the contact was just a blur to him. He remembered crashing down the side of the mountain, losing his grip on Felicity’s hand and then it was all patchy.

Diggle, the quiet observer that he was, had been the biggest help to him over the past few years. John had really taken the ‘leave no man behind’ mantra to heart. Roy had wanted to get a head of his physical therapy so, on days that no appointments were booked, the (ex) Special Forces Sergeant would come and put him through his paces. On rough days, when Roy just needed someone to listen, Diggle was there. On days where he just needed to be alone with his thoughts, Diggle would sit with him until he needed to say something.

The doorbell rang, jolting Roy out of reminiscing. Oliver and Felicity were still in their own world and, as Thea gently rubbed his leg, he stooped slightly, placing a loving kiss in the part of his daughter’s hair.

“Love you, too, Daddy,” she replied.

And his heart skipped a beat.

“I’ll get the door,” he said quietly.

Patton followed Roy pretty much wherever he went but he was already sitting at the door when Roy turned to look for him. There could only be one other person on the other side of the door.  
“Sir,” he nodded as he opened the door.

“Roy Harper,” Tommy smiled, arms open to embrace him, “look at you.”

*

_“Hey,” Tommy wandered in to Roy’s hospital room._

_Roy startled and Tommy paused, holding his hands up to show no foul._

_“Sir, sorry, sir,” Roy fidgeted in his bed, sitting up straighter. He moved to salute and Tommy rushed to stop him, gently taking his elbow and lowering it to the bed._

_“No need, Petty Officer,” Tommy smiled._

_“Thank you, sir, everything still hurts a bit, sir.”_

_Tommy pulled a chair closer to the bed, making sure that it didn’t drag. He sat down and lifted his legs, crossing them at the ankles as they came to rest on the bed._

_“How is everyone?” Roy whispered._

_“Felicity is heading home today,” Tommy smiled. “That’s why I’m here. As her stand in divisional officer, I have to escort her back the Mayport. And rumor has it that John gets to head home in the next few days.”_

_“Good,” Roy nodded excessively, swallowing hard._

_“Yeah.”_

_“Sir, I-”_

_“Roy, I-”_

_They both stopped and laughed. And with a single boyish giggle, Tommy noticed that Roy went from looking like a forty year old man, to looking like a man in his early twenties, like he should._

_That got Tommy thinking about how old he must have looked while he was recovering. The horror and the injuries had taken a toll on his mind and body and he had been tired all the time. The dark circles alone added at least ten years._

_The tautness of Roy’s face added another five._

_“Have you seen Oliver yet?” Roy asked._

_“I’m going to drop in on him next, before I collect PO Smoak.”_

_“He’s pretty messed up, sir, please, look after him.”_

_Tommy nodded, although he was already fully prepared for what he was walking in to. Thea had already briefed him, in great detail, down to the incident which saw Felicity and John re-injured._

_“Messed up” was putting it lightly._

_“Things were pretty rough for me after my first deployment, Roy,” Tommy started, “so I am always here to talk, if you need, alright?”_

_“Yes sir,” Roy nodded. “Thank you, sir.”_

_When Roy’s call came, Tommy had completely forgotten what he had offered all those months ago._

_He ignored it the first time. Irritated at the interruption, promising to call back when he went to lunch in a couple of hours._

_He was up to his neck in report writing, he had a few ASORs to sign off on so, when Roy called again almost right away, and had the call come from anybody else, he wouldn’t have answered._

_“Roy?”_

_“Sir!” he was coughing, and spluttering._

_“What’s going on, Roy?”_

_“Sir, I’ve, I’m, I can’t-“_

_“Where are you, Roy?” Tommy pushed back from his desk and began pacing._

_“Sir, I’m just at home, but I’m not doing too good, I’m struggling, and Thea and Holly are shopping, and I’m just stuck, sir, I’m scared.”_

_Midway through that sentence, Tommy was already halfway down the stairs in a bid to exit the building and race across the base._

_“Roy, I’m coming, I promise, I am coming, you hear?”_

_“Ye-yes, sir, thank you, sir.”_


	8. I've Been Praying (for a true friend to keep)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a chapter wherein the flashback sees the return of my favourite OC character, good old Heath.
> 
> This chapter's title, I think, is a reflection on both the friendship that Felicity makes with Tommy, but also the friendship she had in Heath.

Tommy patted Roy on the back as the young man led him through the house to where everyone was congregated. 

Thea had called him earlier in the morning, with an “I will not take no for an answer” request that he get to the Queen household as soon as possible. 

“Tommy!” Thea sighed, with a relieved smile on her face. She surprised him when she threw her arms around his neck and he had to steady the two of them.

“Hey,” he said softly, holding her close, making sure his hug meant something.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” she whispered.

“Tommy!” Felicity exclaimed, coming into the room. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

She looked a little put out and Tommy was trying to decide on which tactic would work best to diffuse the situation. Felicity looked like she hadn’t slept for about a month. Her hands shook as she played with her necklace and she shot an accusatory look Roy’s way.

“Hey,” Tommy smiled, moving towards her, “it wasn’t his fault, he just opened the door.”

He pulled her into him and held her until she finally softened in his embrace, her muffled mumbles were inaudible, but he knew what she was saying.

_Thank you for coming. Thank you for being here. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I needed this._

“How’s he doing?” he whispered. 

He felt her shrug, and glanced at Roy and Thea in the hopes they would expand. Thea was too busy trying to distract Heath and Cindy, and Roy could only offer a shrug as well.

“He’s sleeping now,” Felicity finally pulled away, “and physically he’s on the mend. I didn’t think we were going to get him back from Sea Charger, and we did, but now…”

“You wanna go for a walk?” he asked.

“Tommy, I can’t, Mila is down for a nap, Heath is being a handful this afternoon an-”

“Felicity,” Thea interrupted gently, “we got this, go.”

Felicity looked between Roy, Thea, and Tommy.

“Go!” Thea shooed her.

“Alright, I’m just going to pop upstairs and get changed,” she pointed upstairs with one hand, twisting the other in her jumper.

“Of course, I’m gonna duck in and see Ollie,” Tommy nodded.

He watched Felicity jog up the stairs and turned to Thea. “You did right by calling me.”

Thea nodded in agreement.

“Hey Heath?” Tommy ruffled the young boy’s hair. “Wanna come see your dad with me?”

“Yes,” he nodded, putting his pencils down. “We have to be quiet and gentle though.”

“Of course,” Tommy’s heart broke.

Tommy knocked lightly as Heath pushed the slightly ajar door all the way open. Heath tiptoed over to the bed and clambered up with ninja like skill. 

“Daddy,” Heath whispered, crawling to his father. 

Oliver was lying on side, the teal sheets bunched around his waist and, with his back to the door, Tommy could see the bandages on his back and arm. He must have collapsed with exhaustion that way. Tommy knew he would never consciously choose to sleep with his back towards the entry point. 

“Daddy,” Heath tried again, his little hand caressing his father’s shoulder. He must have seen Felicity do that, knew that was the best way to wake his father. 

Tommy walked around to the side of the bed and squatted down as Oliver sluggishly opened his eyes. He closed them again and rolled on to his back. His lightly bandaged arm scooped around his son and pulled him close. Heath settled against his father’s side.

“Gentle, gentle,” Heath was whispering, patting his father’s chest softly.

“Hey man,” Tommy whispered.

“Hey,” his replied, his eyes closed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What did I tell you,” Tommy jested, “Jalalabad sucks.”

Oliver smirked.

“You okay, man?” Tommy placed a hand on Oliver’s chest.

“I’m okay,” he replied, eyes still closed, reaching for Tommy’s hand.

A light rap of knuckles on the door announced Felicity’s arrival. Tommy broke his hold on Oliver’s hand and placed it gently back on his chest, squeezing it tightly before letting it go.

“Hey,” Felicity smiled at Oliver, who finally opened his eyes at the sound of her voice. “Tommy and I are just popping out for a little while. Roy and Thea are still here, okay?”

Oliver nodded and reached a hand towards her, gesturing for her to come closer. She crossed the room quickly and crawled onto the bed, one hand in Oliver’s, the other running gently through his hair. 

“Are you still gon’ love me when this gets worse?” he asked, his eyes closing again.

“It’s not going to get worse,” Felicity rubbed his earlobe between her thumb and index finger, glancing worriedly at Tommy.

“But,” his eyebrows hiked up his forehead as he tried to open his eyes, “if it does.”

She smiled shakily at Heath, whose eyebrows were creased in concern. God, she felt guilty, her little boy already worried about everything.

“Yes, Oliver, I’ll still love you,” she assured him, “I’ve always loved you, I’ll always love you.”

*

_“We’ve got eyes on the target,” Felicity tapped her comms, the weapon still aimed between the eyes of a boy, no more than 12 years old._

_Heath motioned with his chin for her to advance._

_“What’s your location?” came Roy’s reply._

_“We’re running thirty meters parallel to the dry creek bed, heading,” Felicity paused to check the sky, “south west.”_

_“And where’s the target?” Oliver demanded._

_Felicity glanced back to where the boy had been, only to find the spot empty._

_“Shit, Heath?” she whispered._

_“He just vanished, I didn’t even take my eyes off him,” Heath hissed._

_“Felicity, where is the target?” Oliver repeated._

_“We’ve-we’ve lost him, sir,” she sighed, shoulders rounding in defeat._

_“Repeat your last,” Oliver demanded with enough anger in his voice to tell Felicity he didn’t really need her to repeat it._

_“Sir, we’ve lost-” the crack of a single bullet rang out._

_Felicity, acting on instinct alone grabbed the back of Heath’s vest and hauled him along the rough terrain. He was using one hand to train his gun on the general direction the shot had come from, the other hand was grabbing at his upper thigh, and Felicity could already see the his uniform staining a dark red._

_Felicity could hear everyone checking in through her comms piece._

_“Ramirez and I are okay,” came Diggle’s rushed whisper._

_“Roy and I are fine,” followed Oliver’s._

_“Shit,” Felicity didn’t have enough hands to keep her gun up, haul Heath along, and respond._

_“Felicity and Heath, what about you?” came Oliver’s inquiry after a couple of beats._

_A fallen tree presented a problem to Felicity and she had to haul Heath up and over it before continuing the bee line for the creek bed._

_“Heath, Felicity, report in immediately.”_

_“Oh god,” Felicity puffed. “Okay, we’re here, slide down.”_

_Heath grunted as he slid down the dusty slope, both hands now clasping the wound to his upper thigh._

_“Shit, he shot me!” Heath spat angrily, as Felicity set her gun up in a pathetic attempt to protect themselves._

_“Give me a look,” she glanced away from the densely treed area they’d come from. Heath had two fingers pressed deep into his thigh and was still bleeding heavily. Out of breath from scrambling along the jungle floor on the heels of his feet, he swallowed hard and pulled his hand away._

_“Shit, no, keep your fingers in there!” Felicity exclaimed, as a burst of blood shot out of the ragged hole in his skin._

_“Fuck.”_

_Felicity grabbed the strap of her vest, trying to thumb her comms that had shifted in their desperate scramble._

_“Sir, Heath is down, I repeat, Heath has been shot.”_

_“How bad is he?” Oliver’s concern surprised Felicity._

_“Thigh wound, right up near his groin, it’s pretty ugly.”_

_“Telling it like it is,” Heath laughed weakly._

_“And our target was the shooter?” Diggle asked._

_Felicity caught a blur of movement from behind a tree and fell silent._

_“Smoak?” Diggle pressed._

_“Can’t talk,” Heath whispered in to his comms, “we think he’s still close by.”_

_“Okay,” Oliver paced his reply, “we’re working out a way to get to you two, hold tight.”_

_“Hold tight, he says,” Heath scoffed, “like I’m not holding my artery closed with my own fingers.”_

_“Be alert,” Felicity whispered into her comms, flashing a smile at Heath, “he might want to have another go.”_

_She slid down next to Heath, muttering, “It’s not an artery, you know,” and rummaged in the backpack for a bandage._

_“Felicity?” came Oliver’s voice in her ear. “Security up the road says our target was just seen heading west, away from your location, they’re closing in on him, we’re closing in on you.”_

_“Okay, thanks,” she replied distractedly as she pushed Heath’s hand out of the way, replacing it with her own._

_“How you going, Heath?” Oliver asked._

_“Oh, I’m feeling it,” he replied with a forced smile that didn’t quite ring true in his voice._

_“Hang in there, buddy.”_

_“Don’t be a sook,” Felicity teased, guiding Heath’s hand back to the wound, “I was back at work the same afternoon I got shot.”_

_“Yeah,” Heath replied, “you had a bullet proof vest on.”_

_“I know,” she smiled at him, “still hurt.”_

_“Uh huh.”_

_“Ready? On my go, move your hand, I’m going to put some serious pressure down with this bandage, okay?”_

_“Mhmm,” Heath nodded, preparing himself._

_“Okay,” she rushed and Heath pulled his hand out as Felicity opened the bandage and pushed down on either side of his leg._

_Heath’s roar of pain died in the back of his throat as he tried to keep quiet._

_“Right, hand back there, you can never have too much pressure, right?”_

_“Yeah,” Heath’s breath was still coming hard and fast, even when Felicity’s had calmed._

_“Oliver? Where are you?” she asked._

_“Can’t be far.”_

_Felicity continued wrapping the bandage tightly around Heath’s leg._

_“More pressure, more pressure,” Heath was still trying to press harder as Felicity pulled the end of the bandage up between his legs, wrapping it around her fist, and pressing into the wound, hoping that her strength was enough._

_“You tell anyone my hand was this close to your dick, and I’ll knock you out,” she deadpanned, poking her head up out of the creek bed to check._

_“The Lieutenant will be upset,” Heath’s voice had fallen to a whisper._

_“He’s used to it by now,” Felicity smiled._

_When she glanced back down, Heath’s eyes were closed and his head was tipped to the side._

_“Heath, hey,” she shook her fist in his leg, “you need to stay awake.”_

_His eyes opened and rolled around, before focusing on Felicity._

_“Heath, stay awake.”_

_“Yeah,” he sighed, as his eyes closed again and his chin dropped to his chest._

_“Felicity,” Oliver’s voice was in her ear and distantly behind her, “we’re approaching you now.”_

_Roy appeared first, laying up the slope next to Felicity, acting as their security. Oliver squatted beside Heath, peering at the bloody mess beneath Felicity’s fist._

_“I’ve been applying pressure but he just lost consciousness,” Felicity tried not to let the shake in her voice be heard._

_“We’ll get him back to base, take a better look at him, but he’s going to be fine, okay?” Oliver grabbed her free wrist and squeezed tightly._

_Instantly, Felicity felt relaxed, assured, relieved. One of Oliver’s eyebrows was raised, his way of asking her, and only her, if everything was okay. He always leaned in that little bit, always made contact with her. She shook her head, things were not okay right now. Between them, with Heath, the target._

_Shit, the target. She yanked her hand free of his and scratched the back of her neck._

_“I’m sorry we lost the target,” Felicity muttered._

_“Doesn’t matter right now,” Oliver soothed, not put off by her withdrawal. “Priority one is to get Heath back for medical, okay?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Oliver made a gesture that demanded Felicity make eye contact with him._

_He nodded at her._

_I’m still here. I’m always here, I’ll always be here._

_“Is this a dischargeable offense, sir?” came Heath’s murmured interruption._

_“What’s that?” Oliver leaned over him._

_“Getting dropped by a kid?” Heath’s speech was slurred but delivered with good humor, as he started to fade out again._

_Oliver smirked. “I think the dent to your ego is punishment enough, don’t you?”_


	9. Through the Storm (we reach the shore)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me, for this horrendous delay in updating. 
> 
> I've not had the best month or so, personally, and it was REALLY hard to find the motivation to get on here and edit this to the point where I was happy enough to post it.
> 
> This is not the last chapter, but it's not far off, unless inspiration from you guys, myself, and something else, strikes.
> 
> Enjoy. x

Shutting the front door behind her, Tommy watched as Felicity walked towards him, meeting him on the path outside their house and automatically turning left to head towards the café on the base.

“Felicity,” Tommy started.

“Tommy, I just, not right now, okay, I just need some silence, I just need to clear my head, please just bear with me,” she rushed, wrapping her cardigan tightly around her, folding her arms defensively.

Tommy pursed his lips and nodded, hands delving into his pockets, shoulders rounding against the wind. 

He still hadn’t worked out exactly what to say to her, he was hoping that she’d give him some idea of what she wanted to hear. He didn’t know how to convey his support in a way that Felicity wouldn’t find it pitying or forced. 

It took ten minutes for Felicity to open up. They’d ordered coffee and a slice of cake to share, and Felicity had drunk most of her latte before she finally rolled her eyes, sighed, and glared at him.

“What?” he asked over the top of his coffee cup.

“What?” she repeated. “What? You’ve opened and closed your mouth about ten times now, whatever you want to say, say it.”

“Felicity, I’m just concerned. About you. And Oliver.”

“Tommy, I just, I’m so exhausted and worried and done, I’m just so done,” her voice dropped, her tone much deeper than usual. “I’m sick of having to tell people I’m fine, because Tommy, right now, I’m really, really not fine.”

Tommy nodded, chewing on his top lip.

“I don’t know how to bring him back from this, this darkness that is in him,” her eyes filled with tears, “I feel like it’s smothering him, and dragging me in and I have to be happy and smiley for the kids, and Heath’s always asking me ‘Mommy, are you okay?’ and I have to tell him that I am, but I didn’t know how convincing I am, because, you saw him just before, he’s so young, Tommy, he’s so young and he already knows too much pain.”

Tommy swallowed hard.

“And Oliver is in so much pain,” she was crying now, her voice pitching higher, becoming more nasally, “he doesn’t deserve this, he deserves so much more than this.”

“Of course he does,” Tommy agreed, “so do you.”

“Well then why don’t we have it?” she cried, her voice cracking, her words broken by sobs.

Tommy jumped out of his chair and moved around the table to her, pulling her up into his chest, squeezing her tightly.

“Felicity, I don’t know what to say, I don’t want to offend you, or put you off, I just want to be there for you, for Oliver, for the little gremlins, I just want to help, and make sure that your family is okay,” his tone matched hers, full of conviction. 

“He’s going to be okay,” she nodded.

“He’s going to be okay,” he replied.

“Thank you, Tommy,” Felicity whispered, bouncing up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“You wanna head home?” Tommy asked, half turning towards the door but keeping his eyes on Felicity’s face.

“Yeah,” she smiled, “it’s probably a good idea.”

“Then let’s go, Smoak,” he motioned.

“Yes, sir,” she ducked past him, pushing the door to the small café open.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Ollie peed on a cop while on leave in Dubai?” Tommy put his arm around Felicity’s shoulders and pulled her close, feeling the laughter bubble from her before he heard it.

“Was that the same run of shenanigans in which you rented out The Sevens Stadium so you could play strip kickball with a bunch of Emirati models?”

“I never did half the crap that people say I did,” Tommy feigned hurt, dropping his arm from around Felicity’s shoulders to clutch his chest.

“There’s pictures on the internet to prove it,” she laughed.

“Who could forget the footage of Oliver peeing on the cop?” Tommy shot, not missing a beat.

“Ugh,” Felicity moaned, throwing her head back is disdain. “I wish everyone would.”

“Not likely,” Tommy replied, sing songy.

“You two have way too much money,” Felicity shook her head.

“And yet, we still work to earn an honest wage,” Tommy conceded.

“Yeah,” Felicity trailed off.

“Don’t worry,” Tommy’s face was all of a sudden stern again, “he’ll be back to dropping his pants, setting bad examples in no time.”

“Yeah,” Felicity’s face fell too, “you think so?”

*

_“And, breaking news out of Afghanistan,” the news report interrupted the baseball game Oliver was watching. His head snapped up from the book he was reading._

_“A high profile Taliban target, Merzad Shah, has been killed in a co-ordinated air strike, known as Operation One Forty Two. Shah, a senior leader of the Taliban, was the person of interest in Operation Sea Charger. Operation Sea Charger was the military campaign that saw the mixed military special operations team, under the command of then Lieutenant Oliver Queen, track down Merzad Shah. Turbine 42 was shot of the sky by a Talibani RPG and 29 out of the 33 men on board were killed on impact.”_

_Oliver scrambled for the remote to mute it, taking a deep breath as pictures of all the familiar, but long forgotten, faces filled the screen. Then there was the four of them. John, then Roy, then himself, then Felicity._

_Then Felicity’s picture, in her military whites, with her hair pulled back in the appropriate conservative bun, a small smile on her face changed into a moving version of just that. She was stood in front of the memorial for the SEAL team, a US Navy flag draped behind her._

_Oliver unmuted the TV._

_“-relief to hear that Merzad Shah has been killed,” she sounded a little nervous, a flush creeping up her neck. “I feel that the efforts of SEAL Team 1, myself, and Sergeant Diggle’s Special Forces team were not in vain.”_

_She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and Oliver felt a pang of something in his chest._

_“It has been one year, six days since Turbine 42 was shot out of the sky, since we lost some extraordinarily brave, young men,” her voice broke, ever so slightly. “The four of us that survived, myself, Lieutenant Oliver Queen, Petty Officer Third Class Roy Harper, and Special Forces Sergeant John Diggle, will never forget the names and faces of the men we lost.”_

_Oliver blinked away tears, dropping the remote to press the heels of his hands into his eyes._

_“SEAL Team 4 did a remarkable job, using the intel collected throughout the past two years to track down the weapons bunker in which Shah had been living in since just after news of Turbine 42 broke. They lit up the bunker with the sole purpose of making it a target for the US Airforce squadron that was operating out of Bagram. At around 2pm yesterday, eastern time, an air to surface Sky Arrow Hellfire was launched from an AC-130,” she explained._

_Oliver was angry that she had been roped in to giving this press conference. He understood, but didn’t agree._

_As Felicity had said, it had been more than a year since they’d been shot out of the sky, chased through the mountains, by the Taliban. What’s better than a bit of sad nostalgia to make a US win even better?_

_He looked out the window of his little cabin on the third floor, across to the SEAL team memorial. He could see the press gathering, Felicity dwarfed in the crowd of cameras, lighting and microphones._

_“The explosion obliterated the hideout,” she continued, and Oliver watched her carefully, “and a few hours after that, the kill was confirmed. Shah, along with thirteen lower profile targets, were killed on impact. The US Navy would like to extend it’s thanks to the US Airforce, and acknowledge the families of the men who were killed on the 17th August 2012. Thank you.”_

_She stepped back from the podium, her head ducked, and the screen cut back to the newsreader._

_“There you have it, yesterday the hunt for Merzad Shah came to an end. That was Felicity Smoak, one of the four survivors of Turbine 42, the helicopter that went down just over a year ago in the pursuit of Shah. For more on that story, join us tonight.”_

_Oliver glanced out the window again, to see the swarm of reporters closing in on Felicity again. He grabbed a baseball cap and, as quick as his knee would allow him, made his way over to the press conference._

_As he approached, he heard Felicity answering more in-depth questions, which would accompany the “more on this story” on the various news broadcasts._

_He hung back, hadn’t been spotted yet, and he watched the woman he loved answer questions with grace; poised, considerate, deliberate in the way she addressed the crowd._

_“Coming out of the situation alive was not a victory, we were lucky, we struggled,” she was saying, and Oliver wondered what the question had been. “There’s nothing glorious about war. There’s nothing glorious about holding your friends in your arms and watching them die. We didn't win, we lost. You can't turn that around and make it look like we won. We didn't, we lost. So me coming out alive, with the guys, that's not a victory. Some people see it like that, it's not. It's not a victory at all.”_

_"Where are you hoping to head, with your career, in the next couple of years?"_

_"Right now, I'm still on the ship, the USS Chinook, we're shore based at the moment, there's some pretty heavy maintenance occurring, and I'm about to go on two weeks leave, so the whole situation is a nice chance to fully recover from an illness that saw me hospitalised last month an-"_

_"Can you speculate as to who else is on the Chinook?" somebody asked the leading question._

_"Um," Felicity was startled by the interruption._

_“Petty Officer Smoak,” that same somebody continued, “there are rumors going around concerning yourself and Lieutenant Queen.”_

_Oliver startled at the sound of his name, and he saw Felicity hesitate, but recover._

_“That’s not something I want to comment on.”_

_“My camera crew captured images of the two of you deep in conversation a few days ago at the medal ceremony,” the same reporter pressed._

_Oliver recognized him. But couldn’t quite put a name to the face. He’d been following the story of Turbine 42 and the aftermath, always trying to destroy the credibility of their hard work with stories of a romance._

_“Well, you can understand why we would have been seen together,” Felicity smiled, her pink lips pursed briefly. “We were all recipients of medals, it’s no surprise we were in the same area.”_

_“So how do you feel about your relationship with Oliver Queen?” asked someone else._

_“I didn’t sa-” Felicity stammered, all of a sudden appearing overwhelmed._

_“It’s a simple yes or no question.”_

_“You didn’t ask a yes or no question.” Felicity enunciated._

_“Are you and the lieutenant an item? What does it mean for your careers?”_

_Felicity took a moment to search the crowd and he moved slightly, drawing her attention to him. He smiled at her. She smiled back, the first genuine smile he’d seen, and straightened her shoulders._

_“Yes. And I don’t know.”_

_“There might be action brought against you.”_

_“From the moment he walked in to my life, I became a person that I didn’t even know I was capable of being. I became the very best version of myself that would never have been possible without going through what we went through. It is a shame, then, that you feel the most important questions to be asking are not about my career, or Operation One Forty Two, or the fact that one of the most wanted men in the Taliban has been crossed off our list, but about my relationship. I went through a lot, I am still going through a lot. I survived something that most men didn’t. I saved the lives of people who are very important to me.”_

_She paused to take a breath, but everyone was so taken aback that there was silence, so she continued._

_“My deployment, my friendship, and subsequent relationship with Oliver, gave my life meaning, it gives my life purpose,” she explained, and then, in the sound bite of the century added, “and that kind of bond? It brings me more joy than the ravages of war could ever take away from us.”_

_“So what are the plans for the future?”_

_“We’re taking each day as it comes… Excuse me,” she dipped her head again and walked towards Oliver._

_He was waiting for her and, as she approached, he pulled one hand from the pocket of his jeans and reached out for her. She took it without breaking her stride, and he turned to walk beside her, back towards the housing._


	10. Wreckage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I needed season five to really help me along in this.  
> I have taken a little creative license in the story, and the way things are resolved.  
> This is a big one. I couldn't quite work out where to cut it.

Felicity continued to fidget with the hemline of her skirt. Smoothing it out, scrunching it up, picking at the colorful fluffy pills. 

"Felicity," Ray spoke softly, drawing her attention away from a particularly interesting loose thread.

"Mm, yeah?" Felicity mentally and physically shook herself out of her panicked day dream.

"How are you doing?" He asked, a gentle smile on his face.

"Well, I'm back here again, so obviously not great."

"Where do you want to start?"

"Ummm, how about with the fact my husband won't leave our bedroom? Or that the kids are picking up on my anxiety? Or that Roy is, Roy is stuck again, and this time John can't help him? Tommy is trying his best, but he's busy with work and I'm-I'm drowning, Dr. Palmer."

Ray was silent, still, turning his pen gently in his fingers. He watched as Felicity sat, her shoulders still back, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She was holding it together. But she was, as she had just suggested, drowning. A deep frown line between her eyes was now a permanent fixture, her eyes were always glistening with unshed tears, and her hands were only clasped so tight so as to stop her from shaking. 

"Can you-can you fucking say something?" She eventually blurted out, her hands and forearms coming down with a “thwack” on the arms of the single seat sofa she was sat on.

"Why do you feel responsible for everything that has happened?" Ray inquired. "None of it was your fault."

"I don't feel responsible."

"I think you d-"

"I feel guilty," she spat emphatically. 

"And there's a difference?"

"Yes, a big one."

"Do you want to explain it to me?"

Felicity paused. "Not really."

Ray held her gaze, gentle eyes imploring her.

"I know that while I was responsible for John, Roy, and Oliver during those couple of days, I was not responsible for how it all went down. I was responsible for treating their injuries, not causing them. I have come to terms with this now," she paced herself. "I feel guilty because I could not do enough in those first few weeks back home. I feel guilty because, m-mentally and physically, we were all hurting too much to realize we were all just as stuck as one another. I-I-I, I feel guilty because now..."

Felicity's eyes flashed to Ray as she pulled up short.

"Because now...?"

"Because I hid those files from the military doctor. Because Oliver wouldn't be as, as damaged as he is now, if he hadn't deployed to Jalalabad."

"That's not you feeling guilty, Felicity. That's you claiming responsibility."

“Because I AM responsible, Ray!”

Ray held her gaze, his mouth set in a straight line. He regarded her trembling bottom lip, the flush in her face, her heavy, faltering breathing, the way her small hands gripped the arms on the lounge, as if she was going to push off and flee. 

“Felicity,” he eventually said, quietly, moving as gently as he could to the seat next to her, “listen.”

“No,” she replied stubbornly, accidentally smearing makeup down her cheek as she rubbed tears off her face with the back of her hand.

“Felicity…”

“You have no idea what he's been through, what he's lost, how he's grown. But I do. I know him better than anyone.”

“You love him, Felicity, you would do anything for him. You’d break the law to help him.”

“Yes. I mean, no! No! I did, but that's over now. And-”

“And, and, what?”

“And now I'm supposed to trust you…?” Felicity squeaked.

Ray looked confused. “Felicity…”

“I’m sorry,” she rushed. “I don’t know you, Ray, I don’t know you, and I feel so stupid that I just-”

She stood up abruptly.

“You don’t need to feel stupid,” he tried to encourage her to sit down.

Felicity didn’t look convinced.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, turning and exiting the office.

 

Ray had been in with Oliver for longer than Felicity had expected him to be. He’d turned up with Adrian Chase, who’d introduced himself as a slightly unconventional grief counselor.

“From what I’ve heard about Oliver from Dr. Palmer, I think I can help him,” he said.

He had then spent the next half an hour berating Oliver, criticizing, verbally torturing him and, as Felicity sat just outside the door. He questioned Oliver's reason for joining the military.

Felicity had doubted the technique the minute it started. She’d sat with her tablet resting on her knees, scouring the internet for anything she could find on the man that was trying to break her husband.

Adrian Chase was a registered psychologist, focusing extensively on psychotherapy and treating emotional and mental suffering in patients with behavioral intervention. He aimed to break the patient, making them admit to the one thing that was the very cause of their problem. Or at the very least, whatever they felt the cause of their issue was.  
And then pass them on to a psychiatrist for appropriate medicating and ways to deal.

Evidently, in Adrian’s eyes, Oliver’s PTSD seemed to be an extension of his attempt to deal with how many people he killed.

“You didn’t kill because you had to, there would have been other choices,” Adrian hissed. “So why, why do you do it?”

Felicity clambered to her and was ready to launch a tirade against Adrian. Sometimes they didn’t have the choice. Over there it was kill or be killed.

She was just about to grab Adrian by the shoulder, and shout “That’s enough!” in his face.

But, before she could, Oliver murmured something.

“Because I wanted to,” he sighed in resignation.

“What?” Adrian’s chair squeaked on the floor as he moved it closer to where Oliver was seated.

Felicity had to cover her mouth with one hand to prevent a sob from escaping.

“I wanted to,” Oliver repeated, still in a whisper, his head hung. 

Then.

“I WANTED TO,” he roared at Adrian, the veins in his neck and across his forehead threatening to explode, “AND I LIKED IT!”

Felicity had to bring her other hand up to her mouth, as if that was going to help.

“Oliver,” her muffled cry still rang out.

Adrian stood up abruptly and left the room without acknowledging anyone.

Oliver followed him as he did so, and then made eye contact with Felicity. He was panting, and sweating, and he looked so pained.

“Felicity,” he whispered. A beg. His distraught face crumpled and he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, pushing the palms of his hands against the ridge of his brow.

“Oliver,” Felicity pleaded with him to look at her again.

He shook his head slowly, shoulders rounded in defeat. He was a broken man again.

Ray took Felicity gently by the arm and led her out of the room, then closed the door.

Helpless, she slid down the wall, sobbing into the crook of her elbow. 

 

The door opened slowly, after hours of what Felicity heard as silence. But a lot had obviously been said. Ray looked exhausted, dark shadows under his eyes, his cheeks seemed sunken. He offered Felicity as weak smile as she clambered to her feet.

“I’ve given him something to help him sleep,” Ray explained as Felicity looked over his shoulder to where Oliver was propped up in bed.

“O-okay,” Felicity nodded.

“I think we got somewhere today,” he assured her.

Felicity nodded again. “Yeah, g-good.”

“I’d still like to keep both your appointment and his next week."

“Yep,” she nodded, still not looking away from Oliver.

Ray squeezed her upper arm gently, garnering her attention momentarily.

“You can do this, Felicity.”

“Th-thank you,” she sniffed.

Ray dipped his head in goodbye and showed himself out. Felicity didn’t even hear him close the front door as she walked slowly to Oliver’s bedside.

He was resting back on a big pillow, half sitting half lying, his hands limp beside him. She wasn’t even sure he knew she was there.

“I didn’t do what I did to be a hero,” he scoffed, rambling, almost delirious with exhaustion. “I did what I did, because there was a part of me, a bigger part than I am willing to admit, that enjoyed it, I enjoyed killing.”

Felicity lowered herself to sit on the bed next to him. She ran a hand down his arm, and he enclosed a hand over hers, opening his eyes. 

“That’s why you quit the teams…?” Felicity cupped his face with her spare hand, a thumb brushing his cheek.

“Yeah,” he sighed eyes closing.

“Hey,” she shook him gently, to make him look at her again. “I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you, wanted to marry you, if I didn’t know what type of man you were.”

“The navy didn’t make me a killer,” he shrugged.

“No,” Felicity conceded, the military didn’t set out to make anyone a killer, however, the military certainly trained them to kill, if need be. If Oliver was a monster, if he liked killing, then so did she.

“It’s in me,” he sighed. “I am not a person, I am a killer.”

“You are not,” her words were watery, “all those times over there, where you were forced to make a decision, their life or yours, you made the right one, if anything made you a killer, like you think, it was that.”

His eyes flicked to hers. There was so much guilt, so much hurt.

“You have spent a decade dealing with horrors that most people don’t even realize and the fact that didn’t turn you into a monster proves exactly the kind of person that you are,” Felicity argued.

“Felicity,” his tongue flicked out to lick his dry lips, “I don’t know what kind of person I am.”

“Oliver, I do, I know what kind of person you are, I know what kind of man you are,” she rushed through gritted teeth. “Please, I need you to let me help you, I need you to trust me.”

“I will always trust you,” he breathed, his eyes closing once more, a single tear running down his cheek, “I just don’t trust myself.”

“Oliver, hey,” Felicity wanted to say more, but his head involuntarily rolled into the hand that cupped his cheek.

And with that, he floated away on a cloud of exhaustion and Ativan.

 

Felicity pushed the door open as Oliver stirred. Just as with her children, she always sensed when he was waking up. He was her alarm clock in the morning too. He’d always had an internal clock that woke him, and therefore her, just before 0600.

But that was before everything.

He was lying down more than when she’d left him, but he’d kicked the covers off, revealing his scarred body that was mostly healed. He’d put on most of the weight he’d lost through the process of his recovery, and looked a lot healthier for it. He had one arm tucked under his head, and was lying on his side. His legs were kicking the blankets off a little bit more, his free hand wiggling the pillow to a different position.

“Hey,” she closed the door behind her.

“Hey,” he smiled the first genuine smile she’d seen from him in a long time. “Where are the kids?”

“Heath is still at play group with Cindy and Holly, and Mila is down for a nap after crèche,” she explained.

He nodded, still lying on his side, and Felicity squatted down at the side of the bed, resting her arms and chin on the mattress.

She pecked gently at Oliver’s lips and he made a little noise of satisfaction.

“You look rested,” she whispered.

“I am.”

She moved a hand to place it against his chest, biting her lip, more to hold back tears than anything else. Oliver cleared his throat.

“Ray and I spoke about a few things after Adrian,” Oliver explained, “and as a result I said a few things to you, probably a little under the influence of whatever it was that Ray gave me, and I just want you to know that I’m sorry, and I really, really appreciate what you said in response.”

“Any of it stick?” Felicity smiled expectantly.

“Hopefully,” Oliver returned.

“I’m sorry too,” she offered.

“For what?”

“For being a hypocrite,” she shrugged. “For pretending that things were fine.”

Oliver went to say something but she stopped him.

“You were right,” she continued, “there are a few more things for us to face. I was willing to pretend to be whatever if it meant getting you back. It drove me to avoid talking about it, pretending that I was okay, pretending that you were okay.”

“Felicity…”

“You know, I think that over in Afghanistan, I got the tiniest taste of what you’ve been through,” she whispered. “The tiniest taste of what you continue to go through. It was more than enough for me.”

Oliver nodded, his smile expressing grace.

“I get it now,” Felicity repeated and looked down, and then back up to him, tears dancing on her lower lashes. “Why you wanted to lie to everyone about your injury, why you want to stay in this room, why you don’t want to see your children.”

Her emotion seemed to be contagious as Oliver’s eyes were filling with tears.

“Every chance I have had to judge you for not being there for the kids and I, I certainly took that opportunity,” she confessed, a moment of self-hate bubbling in her stomach. “I needed you, Oliver, and I was blind to you needing me, and I am sorry.”

“Felicity,” he reached for her shoulder, a look of love on his face, “you have been there more often than I could have asked for.”

“You know,” she squeaked, “you said you didn’t know what kind of person you are.”

Oliver blinked, his face falling. And Felicity wondered whether he actually remembered even saying that to her. He swallowed, and Felicity took that as her cue to continue.

“I think you should figure that out,” she acknowledged.

Oliver pursed his lips, conceding and closing his eyes.

“Will you help me?” he asked, and Felicity could see how difficult it was for him.

“Of course.”

 

Oliver took a fortifying breath as he approached the front door of the pastel blue weatherboard house. He stood on the doormat, still, listening for what was happening inside. He heard Felicity calling out to Mila, an excited shriek in reply. Heath was in older brother mode, chastising Mila because, whatever she was doing, she was doing it wrong. 

“Heath, be nice to your sister, show her how to do it, don’t just tell her she’s wrong,” Felicity explained.

Even though he still had a key, he knocked on the big white door. The house fell silent and then he heard the stampede.

“Daddy!” Mila was yelling over and over again, each repetition gaining speed until it was nothing more than over-excited garble.

The door opened and, instead of Felicity, he looked down to see Heath, one hand still on the door handle as he pulled the door back. Mila was peering out from behind Heath.

“You can’t run outside, Mila, there might be traffic,” Heath told her, an arm held out protectively to stop her from bolting.

Oliver paused, his heart beating faster.

It had been less than twenty four hours but he swore they grew every time he saw them.

“It’s okay,” Oliver dropped to one knee, his arms outstretched, “I won’t let her go to far.”

Heath dropped his arm and both children launched themselves at him, giggling and already vying for his undivided attention. He smothered them both with kisses, relishing the way they clung to him. They laughed and shrieked as he blew raspberries on their necks and arms.

At some point, Felicity had arrived at the door. She was watching the three of them, a small smile playing on her lips. When Oliver met her eyes, the smile grew.

“Hey,” he offered, standing up with a child on each hip, moving towards the door.

“Hey,” she replied, offering him her cheek as he stooped to kiss it. Mila grabbed for Felicity’s neck and Oliver helped her shift across.

“Everyone is going to be here soon,” Heath explained to Oliver.

“Everyone, hey?”

“Holly and Jacob and Lyla and John and Roy and Thea and Cindy,” Heath listed and then whipped his head around to look at his mother. “Did I miss anyone?”

“No, baby,” she smiled at him, and Oliver watched as Felicity automatically reacted to Mila putting her head on her shoulder with a gentle kiss to the forehead.

Felicity smiled, and it was the saddest smile he’d seen. He hoped that it would be the last of the sadness, at least for the afternoon.

In the six months they’d been living apart, Oliver was back at the house every afternoon, helping Felicity keep the kids in some kind of pseudo routine. They had agreed that time apart, permanent or otherwise, was what they both needed. Oliver needed it to find himself, even with Felicity’s help. Felicity needed it to help him. They were probably spending more quality time with each other now than they had in quite a while.

It had happened slowly, then suddenly. Oliver booked a cabin across the base, just to give himself some breathing room. He rarely slept, instead pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed. This drove Felicity nuts, especially when she was running on so little sleep herself, between work, and the kids, and tiptoeing around his sorry self.

A few nights turned in to a few weeks, which turned into a few months. But they were better for it. And, even though he missed her so much he’d sometimes cry himself beyond the brink of exhaustion, it was helping both of them.

So much so that they were talking about the possibility of Oliver moving back in soon. Mainly for themselves, the separation getting too much. Oliver could tell from the way Felicity regarded him that it wasn’t just his presence that she missed. Sometimes, when they held a glance for too long, she would flush bright red and excuse herself. Oliver was the same.

Once, and only once, in the last six months had Chinese takeaway, wine, and the kids at the Diggle’s gotten the better of them. It was messy, but needed.

He was looking into taking up a civilian role at Coronado, to train hopeful SEALs. He and Felicity had talked about her and the children coming along too. She had a few posting options at the Special Warfare Command there.

It would be sad to leave everyone behind, but the routine they could establish there would be welcomed.

Even now, as they carried their children through to the lounge, Oliver felt a sense of normalcy settle over the four of them. I it made him uncomfortable, but only because the feeling was so foreign to him. Felicity gently bumped him as she passed, leading the way, and the smile she flashed him, less mournful than before, made his heart sing.

True to Heath’s word, everyone arrived soon after, carrying salad bowls, and trays of meat, and dips and chips. The four children scurried off into the backyard, returning occasionally to dive into the chip bowl, their grubby hands the least of anyone’s concerns.

The six adults were preparing the late lunch in the kitchen, mostly in silence, save for idle chit chat. It was just how it always had been. Felicity turned around from dicing an onion and nearly ran headlong in to Oliver, who had just turned from the sink to reach for the hand towel near her leg. He steadied her, one hand on her hip, one hand on her arm. She felt so familiar in his hands, but he was so unsure.

They both opened their mouths to say something, but both pulled back at the last minute, smiling at each other. 

Oliver’s mind flashed back to when this house was theirs, and only theirs, before Heath was born, before Mila was even a figment of their imagination.

When it was simply the two of them.

Roy cleared his throat. “I’m just going to go check on the kids.”

“I’ll come with,” Diggle put down the tray of meat he was about to carry out to the barbecue.

“Yeah,” Lyla spoke up, motioning at Thea, “maybe we’ll start setting up outside?”

“Perfect,” Thea grabbed a few bowls hastily.

Felicity shifted, not further away, not closer, just shifted under Oliver’s hands.

“That-that was subtle,” he grinned at her, the back screen door slamming closed.

“So subtle,” she grinned back.

Their smiles fell at the same time.

“I think this was a ruse, this whole dinner thing,” she whispered. “I think they think we deserve some alone time.”

“Do we?” he stepped so close their chests were touching.

Felicity frowned, and Oliver rushed to correct himself.

“Well, I mean, I didn’t know if it was a…”

“We can take it one step at a time,” Felicity stepped closer still so Oliver could feel the warmth radiating off her.

“I would like that very much,” he dipped slightly to kiss her gently, just once.

“This is hard for you, huh?” she whispered.

“Hypothetically dating my wife?” he scoffed. “No, it’s fine.”

Felicity’s face sobered.

“It’s incredibly hard, it is borderline impossible,” he deadpanned. 

“We’re going to win, we will,” she swore, “so we’re going to take a step back, put our feet up and, god forbid, relax.”

She ran her hand through his hair, down the side of his face, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at her, save she see the tears in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he turned into her hand.

She demanded he face her and, when he finally brought his eyes up to hers, he was so close he could see the faint scar along her cheekbone. He often forgot that scar was there. She pursed her lips, then licked them and, before he knew it, she was kissing him. Deeply, emotionally, longingly.

He could never be lukewarm about her. And he feared himself, with her. The love she gave was too much, more than he ever deserved, and he was scared of it. He wanted to make something of himself, protect his family, and make their lives better. She turned everything upside down. He knew it from the very beginning, she had a power over him. If she had wanted him to, he would have walked away from everything. A military career was nothing if she wasn’t behind him.

Yes. This is what she meant to him.

They broke from their kiss, pressing their foreheads together.

“What was that for?” he asked, his voice cracking from the lump in his throat.

Felicity sighed heavily, still not pulling away from him. Oliver could see himself in the tears on her lower lashes.

“Stay tonight, okay?”

*

_Felicity stood just off stage in the auditorium, fidgeting with her cover, tucking her hair back. The hall buzzed with high school students here for a careers day. The previous speaker, a lawyer, had just wrapped, and the MC for the day was thanking her, and escorting her off stage._

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_Felicity felt a supportive hand on her lower back and she turned to smile at Oliver._

_“You ready?” he leaned in to whisper._

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_“No,” she scoffed, laughing nervously._

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_“You’ll be fine,” he kissed the side of her head._

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_“Alright everyone,” the MC approached the podium again, “our next speaker is someone that you all should know, someone who has forged a strong career in our Navy through her resilience and with an attitude that beggars belief. I won’t say much more, other than to ask you all to join me in welcoming Felicity Smoak, a master chief petty officer in the navy.”_

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_A controlled applause filled the space as Felicity took one more deep breath. Oliver squeezed her hand and let it go as she walked out into the spotlight._

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_There was more people here than she thought._

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_Standing at the podium, she adjusted the microphone and gave a nervous smile as feedback screeched a short protest._

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_“Hi everyone, my name is Felicity Smoak, and I do just have a small correction to make. I am not a master chief petty officer in the navy, I am **the** Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy, the first female one in history,” she explained, and she saw a few people already leaning forward with interest. “It’s abbreviated to MCPON because it is a mouthful, and to be perfectly honest, a ridiculous title. Those other letters you see next to my name up on the screen behind me are my ratings within the US Navy.”_

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_She flicked back to Oliver who was still smiling at her, so proud._

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_“CT, is a cryptologic technician. A CT controls the flow of messages and information coming in and out and also conducts electronic warfare. I’m also an ET, an electronic technician, so I am responsible for the equipment used to send and receive these messages, detect planes and ships, and determine target distances. There’s a lot of maintenance, repairs, and calibrations involved in this job, and I am specially qualified to operate the nuclear reactor that powers some of our ships. IT pretty much speaks for itself, it’s the Information System Technician, so I design, install, operate, and maintain state-of-the-art information systems on ships and submarines,” Felicity paused to take a breath and check her place in her notes. “Last, but not least, I am an Operations specialist. I help maintain and operate radar, navigation, and communications equipment in the combat information centers or the bridges.”_

__

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_The few people she could see nodded, impressed._

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_“So, that’s me covered, MCPON(CT/ET/IT/OS) Felicity Meagan Smoak,” she smiled, “there’ll be a quiz at the end so I hope you made note of all those.”_

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_There was a murmur of laughter and Felicity relaxed a bit more._

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_“I began my career in the navy when I was quite young, I went in as a Seaman Recruit and, over the next few years, worked my way through the ranks to become a Petty Officer First Class Combat Information Systems slash Communications and Information Systems sailor. Another mouthful.”_

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_Felicity flicked through the slideshow of photographs that showed her fresh faced on her first sea deployment, working in the CIC, blasting around on a RHIB, maintaining currency on her firearm. She spoke in detail about what her first deployment was like, how hard it was, how fun it was, all the things she learned._

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_“The 12th of April 2015 was a day that changed my life and my future forever,” she clicked a button that made the screen go black, “I was crash posted and tasked by SEAL Team 1 to assist with an operation in Afghanistan to eliminate a target by the name of Merzad Shah. Hell yeah, I thought, that’s why I’m in this,” she smiled, and everyone laughed._

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_“I arrived at a very small US outpost three days later, after our detail had already been attacked by the Taliban with roadside IEDs. I spent the first day of my time in Afghanistan elbow deep in a soldiers gut.”_

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_A few people in the crowd gasped. The photo behind her depicted her in the sickbay, hands and arms bloodied. She already looked tired. The split on her forehead had not been clean. This photo was taken for the sole purpose of documenting injuries._

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_“Oh don’t worry, it gets so much worse,” she offered one girl in the front row._

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_The starry eyed girl smiled, nodding sympathetically._

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_She continued on, talking about training with the SEALs, their night operations, the things she saw, the things she didn’t see, the toll the war took on civilians, took on fighters. She spoke about Heath, about his bravery, his sacrifice, the effect his death had on her and the team._

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_“But all that was soon forgotten, actually, forgotten is the wrong word, but it certainly took a backseat to the following three days, and the months that followed. SEAL Team 1, and the Spec Ops team we shared the outpost with got word that Merzad Shah was in a village just over the ridge, so we were off,” she turned to view the photo on the screen, the two team sat side by side in four lines on the tarmac, checking their kit, their weapons, their ops books._

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_Felicity used the red laser to point at herself._

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_“You may think that the person right there is a small child, but no, that’s me, I just look like a nine year old next to all these men,” she turned back to a auditorium full of laughter. “I’m sad to say that everyone in that picture, minus four of us, was dead within the hour.”_

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_The room fell silent._

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_“I’m not telling you this to scare you out of a career in our country’s military,” she rushed, “rather I am telling you this because it is a fact of life and war. Sometimes it is going to be tough, heartbreaking, and you will reach a point where you do not think you can take anymore, but, you will be able to. There is a reason you made it as far you will.”_

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_She paused._

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_“What I’m about to show you is a graphic depiction of what went down in the three days after Turbine 42 was shot from sky. You and your parents have signed waivers and consent forms for this but please, if you need to excuse yourself at any time, know that it is perfectly okay to do so. You are going to see helmet and vest camera footage from myself, as well as the three men that survived the crash. Their names are Sergeant John Diggle, a weapons specialist with the Green Berets, PO3 Roy Harper, another communications SEAL, and Lieutenant Oliver Queen, command control of SEAL Team 1,” she again turned to admire the picture of the four of them on the big screen. Diggle and Oliver flanked her and Roy in a photograph taken in a training exercise. She flicked to the next photo, of the four of them having lunch at Outpost Murphy, casually dressed._

__

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_From that point on, she didn’t turn back to the screen, instead staring straight ahead, with occasional glances at Oliver to fortify herself as she recounted the actions depicted in the footage._

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_She addressed the nature of the battle, the injuries they received, the reasoning behind her decisions, why it takes a certain type of person to make those decisions, how the navy will train you to a certain extent, but the rest is up to you. She spoke about how she seamlessly stepped into command control when nobody else could, and about how all the training, even before the military, helped her._

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_“War is a nightmare, war is awful, it is indifferent, and devastating and evil. War is hell. But war is also an incredible teacher, a brutal teacher, and it teaches you lessons that you will not forget. In war, you are forced to see humanity at its absolute worst and you are also blessed to see humanity in it’s most glorious moments. War teaches you about sorrow, and loss, and pain. And it teaches you about the preciousness and fragility of human life. And in that fragility, war teaches you about death. But war also teaches you about brotherhood, and honor, and humility, and leadership,” Felicity was more impassioned than ever. “Unfortunately, war teaches you the most when things go wrong. In this, you should take ownership of that problem, and you and your team, will solve that problem. Don’t make excuses, don’t blame any other person, get control of your ego. When you enter a career in the military, navy, army, or airforce, as an enlisted member or an officer, you take control of mistakes, of your shortfalls, of your problems, then, and only then, can you take control of the solution that will get those problems solved.”_

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_She paused, catching her breathe, and the hall erupted with cheers, claps, whistling._

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_“Sorry, that was more motivational than career driven,” she cleared her throat and took a sip of water. “I do want to finish on a positive note, though.”_

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_One press of the clicker drew an “aw” from the crowd._

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_“Retired Weapons Specialist Sergeant Diggle, and his wife Vice Admiral Lyla Michaels are still living in Florida, where Lyla is currently still serving, albeit behind a desk now. They have five children, Holly, Jacob, Hannah, Caitlin, and Andrew.”_

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_Another click, another “aw”._

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_“Retired Petty Officer Roy Harper and his wife, Thea Harper, have two girls, Cindy and Felicity, who they are raising in Lynchburg, Virginia. Along with Patton, Roy’s service dog.”_

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_“You may remember Lieutenant Oliver Queen, Command Control of the fateful SEAL Team 1,” she smiled. “He is here today, not as my leader, but as my husband.”_

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_She held out her hand, a simple signal that he should join her._

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_“Oliver is now Retired Lieutenant Commander Queen,” she spoke over the thunderous applause that met Oliver as he walked on stage, the cane he occasional used assisting in steadying his path, “but he still assists at BUD/S training in Coronado, where we are raising our three children, Heath, Mila, and Evelyn.”_

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_She clicked once more to reveal the family photo that she treasured so much. The five of them. Felicity and Oliver sitting either side of twelve year old Heath on the family lounge. nine year old Mila on Oliver’s lap, two year old Evelyn on Felicity’s lap. Oliver’s salt and pepper hair was cropped short, as was his beard, which was mostly still blonde and ginger. The smiles on both their faces crinkled their eyes but, gosh, they looked happy._

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_Felicity felt Oliver’s arm go around her shoulder as he pulled her into his side to place a kiss on her head._

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_The noise increased as everyone rose to their feet, whooping and yelling and clapping._

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_“You’re remarkable,” Oliver whispered._

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_She turned her face up to him, a satisfied, proud, fulfilled smile on her face._

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_“Thank you for remarking on it."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap.
> 
> Thank you.


End file.
